deserves to die
- Feb 14, 2022
Sickness. In between the sickness: when the nausea isn't eating you alive; or your knees, and arms, and every other joint don't ache; I find myself subsumed with melancholia unsure about what to do. Even when not sick I feel so sick. Incapable of doing the things I should to fix the pain, can't go outside, or read a book, afraid it would trigger more pain. I'm so bad at pain, not good at holding in my hands like some people do without judgment, just looking at it. And fear, I feel so much fear, because I can't remember the things I should, though sometimes I don't care. About anything. And it's easier than thinking things matter, when nothing matters; but "meaning" the idea of meaning, comes back to seduce me always, and bring me back to earth, where I feel the pain in my joints again. It's hard to get out of bed. I imagine heavy weights are holding them down, my legs, and I cut the string, and my legs pop up - but then I open my eyes and realize I haven't moved. It's so hard and confusing. I get so lost and trapped in my head unsure of what's real. My memories, not-memories, ideas of things, it's not really me, it's just a reel of some other persons life, like reading the newspaper, well I feel rather bad but it couldn't be me. I just don't know who or what to trust. Sometimes I long for a lifeline, other times I just want to drown in the silence where I can die -- not held back by noise, by the voices, telling me I'm nothing, I'm worthless, just making a fuss over nothing. It's easier for people to deny pain than to feel a little empathy; I understand but would rather not participate in that dreaded cycle.. again.. and again.. They just don't understand, won't or can't.