I want to write. Pour my soul out on paper. But some things are too personal to write about, aren’t they? Is there a line you draw when you are writing about your own life?
I am a flower and I am starved for the sunlight that is you. I am wilting. Becoming a shadow. Once you were vivid bright light, and I came alive. Now you are dimming. Like a setting sun and I am dying.
I am fire and you are ash. Are there still embers there somewhere? I am blazing and you are only glowing. I am dark and you are my light. Am I just crazy? I feel like I can’t control the sad thoughts that swirl through my brain like a hundred bees. Circling and circling, no real place to go. Trapped. My psychosis is controlling me again.
What would I ever do without you? My brain is a mess. I am a mess and I feel so lost right now. Lost in my head, lost in my sadness, lost in myself. Can you come to pull me out again? Are you tired of having to do that?
My thoughts are an endless train tonight. Freight car after freight car. A long line that doesn’t even seem to stop. Spirling down and down and down. Salty tears hitting the keyboard. Am I even making any sense? I am lost in it. I wish I could sleep. Turn it off for a while. But even in sleep, there are the dreams. Haunting things that run like a reel of film behind my eyelids. Waves of anxiety crashing one after another.
Will I ever be free of this?
I haven’t felt the need to cut myself in years. But today it is strong. I am always too much or too little. I feel everything all the time or nothing at all. I am one extreme or the other. A prisoner of my own brain. Everything feels so personal to me. I am aching always. There is this battle inside my head that no one can see and it is exhausting.