I’m lying on my bed with the familiar cream coloured sheet pulled over my head, a sheet that has been with me since the beginning, since I first laid my imaginative, functioning eyes on the world.
But instead of cuddling me into a peaceful sleep tonight, they are shielding me – or rather imprisoning me – from the thoughts that bounce around my head and fill the gaps between every bit of bone and muscle in my body.
It’s 12:38 a.m.
Mum came in a few hours ago telling me to go to sleep. But she doesn’t get it. I can’t.
I’ve turned the torch light on my phone on now. I feel like I’m in my own little cocoon, lit up with a beam of bright white light casting shadows of my hands onto the cocoon walls.
I had a little moment earlier today. I went into a stage where I felt…nothing? But it wasn’t nothing.
The best way I can describe it is that I felt nothing and everything at the same time.
It was like my mind had gone into overdrive and every emotion that you could possibly feel was spilling into my brain but at the same time I felt a numbness that surrounded me in a storm of nothing.
So I decided to go for a walk. It was raining but I did it anyway. I went into a field where I tried to climb into a little ravine but fell and hit my head hard on the damp ground. I sat there in the dirt for a while, holding my head in my hands and wanting to cry but not being able to get anything out. Eventually I got up and sat on a little hill for a while, watching as little birds tweeted as they jumped from branch to branch in the tree above me.
Knowing I would have to go back to the condiments of my house and my room and the questioning tones and looks of my family made me want to jump into the ravine headfirst – which I did consider doing for a while as I stood at the very edge of it and stared down at the muddy bottom.
But I walked home. I did it because I knew I had to. For me, there was no other option.
But I just felt – NO, I feel – helpless. Like I will always be like this. Like there’s no end from it. Like I’ll never be normal like everyone else and I’ll never be able to experience things like everyone else.
People always tell you that you’ll be okay and you’ll get through and it gets better. But does it really? Maybe it does from some people. But some people aren’t everyone. Maybe I’ll be that one person who forever lives under a brooding black cloud filled with thoughts of blood and death and fear. Because that’s what this all is.
I’m afraid of people.
I’m afraid of embarrassment.
I’m afraid to be alone.
I’m afraid to just be myself.
And because of these fears that I hold, unwillingly, so tightly in my grip, I will never be able to experience the things that normal people do.
I’ll never be able to have a boyfriend for fear of them leaving me, for fear of them hating me, for fear of them ignoring me and disregarding me.
I’ll never be able to truly expose myself to someone like I do on this blog. To openly talk about my feelings and how lost and empty I feel while at the same time having emotions and thoughts overflowing from my brain.
I’ll never be able to be alone and allow myself to be independent and confident.
I might not even be able to have a job as I fear the inevitable embarrassment and awkwardness that I will bring upon myself.
I still crave the blood and the cuts in my skin that I used to have but I try every minute of the day to hold myself back and not let myself be a victim of my own mind.
I should probably go to sleep now. It’s 1:00 a.m. But I probably won’t. I’ll probably sit here for a while longer, disgusted at my own mind and body and the hideousness of it all.
Wish me luck.