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Janay

Copyright, Janay

My story is probably way too long, but WTH; might as well send it anyway and see. It’s just an entry from my journal though. I hope someone out there reads this and realizes that they are not alone.

Sitting here feeling like my heart got ripped out. It hurts so much when your razor is just sitting there wanting to be picked up and used and you know you’ll go overboard if you touch it so you turn away and cry and try to not hurt yourself but inside you feel as if someone carved you out and left you hollow but somehow full of pain, more so than you would believe possible and at first the tears can’t find a way to your eyes they cannot spill you hold back you are crying inside the tears that don’t fall are gathering inside you in a big salty puddle, drowning you and you know you’re going to die you know you are going to drown within yourself and you struggle to find a foothold a handhold some salvation something to grasp but there is nothing the walls are slippery there is nothing to grasp you are falling slipping deeper into yourself knowing that once you are there you can’t come back you will stay inside your protective shell and not deal with the pain that comes with dealing with real life people with the real life world and you are scared because everywhere you turn you see backs not hands.

There is no one to pull you back so you stop you sit you fall to the floor curled fetally into yourself tryig to cry, unable to, still drowning within yourself, listening to Brian McKnight sing about his shattered dreams and broken heart mending on the shelf and you wonder if maybe you can put your own shattered dreams and broken heart on the shelf too and would it mend like his because it is so broken nothing can put it back together it feels like not all the glue in the world maybe a miracle like a magic shelf to mend.

‘Now I sit all alone wishing all of my feeling was gone’. I’d give the world to make all of my feelings go away they are strangling me as if two meaty hands are wrapped around my throat squeezing tighter and I am so scared there is nothing to ease the pain except more pain but how can that be? It makes no sense. I’m looking at my razor (I named him Fred for some reason) and I’m not wanting to let go but if I pick that up right now I’m going to put it in my throat and that’s not something that can get stitched up and sent away. It hurts to take a step back and see, really see what you’re doing to yourself and others, even harder to feel that it’s how it’s supposed to be, that you should feel constantly as if you carry the pain of the universe in your chest your heart aches with the very thought you feel so heavy.

I went outside. I ran. I ran in a straight line, I ran till I got to the park. Black. Quiet. Shady. I could hear the silence so loud. I walked. I stood in the middle of the park trees overhead shading me, and I screamed. I screamed; in my hand I gripped a rock and I wanted to just hurt myself, I wanted to smash something I wanted to smash everything I wanted to smash my heart but instead I just screamed piercing the cool quiet of the park screams swallowed up by the blackness my heart pounding throat raw wishing I could escape the blackness but I won’t. And night shall overtake us. Drained. Shaky. Afraid. My throat hurts. Ran back home. Exercise on the floor of my room till I’m cold and sweaty, shivering thinking maybe it’ll be OK if I’m not sitting on my ass gaining weight it’s OK if you’re losing weight it’s OK if you burn calories so you do you try you try.

Still unable to cry tears lurking just beneath the surface. Completing this, my nonsensical babble. Gripping a flat razor in my left hand, I feel it biting. I will not release it I will not open my hand. Thinking don’t cut don’t cut but what are you doing to your hand? Squeezing. That’s different. Is it? No. Might as well do the wrist right? No. I need to scream again but I can’t my mom will hear I cannot drift off to the peacefulness of sleep because I will dream a bad dream and become caught, trapped in myself and I will still scream only this time in terror but I feel terror now, rising up in my soul I wish I was dead. Blank. I wish for numbness. I wish for something to take away my pain. I wish I wish I wish. ‘If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.’ Wishes are not horses and I am not ok. Yeah. Where’s a therapist when you need her? Perhaps I should go out and chase the wind. Might get lucky and find something. Or maybe the black will swallow me.

Oh. I am feeling quite awful. I am wanting to die. I am upset. I get upset, I run to my books and sit flipping through the pages, searching looking searching looking searching for whatever it is that may heal me, for something that must be there but I never find anything, only clever words, more grief than I myself own, if that is possible. I showered. I threw up. I stood under the water for two hours and I cried and I cried and I cried and I lay upon the shower floor curled up wishing I could dissipate and flow down the drain like so much filth. What are you supposed to do when you have lost the only thing you ever had? And and and and I am choking on my pain I dont deal well with loss. Personal rejection. I could cry forever I could fill an ocean with my tears part my lips let salt leak in sting my tongue with its poison 1 2 3 so many gone and more will come I wish for numbness but it forsakes me it will not come I am left alert and walking dead. I hate to lose. I don’t want to hurt. Flipping through pages I still cannot find what I am looking for and I never will. And so despair sets in. And it is the worst because it feels so final and it sucks you in and this time there really isn’t an anchor you will die. I want to break something. A finger. An arm. A heart. I wish to fall into blackness and not exist. My eyes leak. I cannot find a stopper. I need I need I need but what do I need? I look behind me I see pain. I look in front of me I see pain. I am standing in pain. Why should I stay here? Simply to see my body shrink to the barest bones? But. Why? I feel not to stay. In the end there is death. No matter what it looms before us, hanging overhead like a gray cloud threatening to open and drench you, pour on your head, rain on your parade. Some survive and some do not, I know this. I will be one of the ones who do not. I feel this in my soul, in the deepest black inside. But I don’t mind so much really, if it means peace. It grows old walking about with a huge heavy pain in your chest, wondering how it is possible you are even able to breathe because it is so intense. I tire of playing games. Soon I too will dance with the devil.

 

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