Vanish

Trigger warning: self harm, suicidal thoughts.

I don't like letting go. I dislike it so much that I end up pushing away everything that's good for me, while I allow space in my life for drama and other unhealthy things. I want to write this post. I want to be present in my life right now, but I keep slipping away.

I worry. I worry that people will remember me. I often think about disappearing off the face of everything I know, giving up cello and social media and capitalism and living alone, as a hermit, or maybe in a monastery. I'm not religious, but the ritual appeals to me, the simplicity, the lack of worry. And then comes the worry about cowardice, because I care what other people think of me, but it's the things I do that are externally motivated that hurt me. Maybe everything is externally motivated. Maybe there is no true escape.

I am afraid to want. I am afraid that if I want too much, I will be disappointed. So I downplay my want and I end up settling for something that might be enough, because other people look at it from the outside and think it's enough. And I explain myself, because I've learned that "I don't know" is an unacceptable answer, that "because I don't want to" is selfish, that "please don't ask me that" is manipulative. I am manipulative. I shouldn't be around people until I figure my shit out.

But there's no time.

there's no time for therapy, for self discovery
because i have to earn money
because i am nothing without my productivity

in my haste to prove that i am enough
i become far too much
there's no happy medium in my approach, in my touch
i'm either too soft or too rough

i have to stop
have to be less and more, balanced, just enough
everyone else can do it, so why not me?

I am terrified that because I want so much to be loved, I cannot exist without being manipulative. I am terrified that I will never be able to fix myself. That I will never stop hurting people. How is it ethical for me to be alive, then?

Right now, my sister is in the same room as me. I can't talk to her about this. She has her own shit to deal with. Right now, I'm crying harder than I have in several months, maybe in over a year. Right now, I would cut myself, if I hadn't thrown my razors away. I want to hurt. I want to bleed. I want to punish myself for existing.

I thought I was healing. I thought I was better. What did I do wrong?

I've drenched both sides of my pillow. What if I held it over my nose and mouth until I stopped breathing?