Permanent Delirium

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SELF-HARM, SUICIDE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, DRUG-USE, DRUG ABUSE, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED OR SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS, I STRONGLY RECOMMEND DO NOT READ. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Chapter 1: The Paranoia Crept

 Do you ever feel like you are drowning but you're not underwater? When you need help but your mouth can't open? When you're crying for help inside but you can't bring yourself to reach out? "Kill yourself", "kys" "emo", "lone wolf". They seemed like words I'd never be able to escape, I could not escape the cold, bare truth of myself. I became paranoid as a result of her. As weeks,turned into months and months turned into years, the life in me leaked out like red pen ink. The red pen ink that keeps me alive, is the same red ink that seeped through my long sleeves, the same ink that soaked through my blanket at night and the same ink that drove me to kill myself.

Chapter 2: A Thought After The Other

As seasons passed, turning from winter to summer, my long sleeves stayed on, and my smile drowned in a wave of guilt. The psychedelics I once thought were fun, now turned into my long-lasting reality. My long-lasting reality of nothing but intrusive thoughts. "It will get better" were the words that stuck with me, stuck with me till I was six feet under. My life was like a heartbeat, up and down, until eventually all it was, was down; it was down until I was no longer breathing. With every dose I took, everything was supposed to fall back into place, until I realized the only way, I can escape my never-ending thoughts that compelled my spirit, was to simply end it. The same lady that watched over me, saw me play hopscotch for the first time, the same girl that watched over me saw that my happiness slowly sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and that same girl that watched over me, saw me as I took my last couple of breaths. No one ever cares about you until you are in line at the canteen, until you have money, until you are successful, that is usually the case, isn't it? However, in my case they only cared about me when I filled the empty casket with my lifeless body. Funny how this world works isn't it? We live in a world that stigmatizes mental health but mourns suicides. Everyone wanted to hear my story but as soon as I opened up, this is all I could hear; "Don't be silly", "don't be sad", "don't think like that" and "don't worry about it". Everyone that was there for her, or that loved and cared for her was just a hallucination, a delusion, a sad fantasy created in her mind. She was delirious, except this delirium was not temporary, it was permanent. Her long sleeves turned into gauzes and her wrists turned into a cry for help. Her body was in pain, but her mind was at ease.

Chapter 3: The Spiral Into The Other World

She had a problem, a problem that had been with her since she knew what sadness was. She was convinced there was nothing left for her, nothing could help her,and she was clueless on what to do to make herself feel of worth. She fell down a dark spiral of severe depression, anxiety and drug abuse. She swallowed a pill, she opened a tab, she inhaled a sense of euphoria and exhaled the agony that had latched onto her mind and soul for what seemed like a century. Wandering the streets all hours of the morning, walking into random parties and hanging out with the wrong crowds just to neglect her thoughts and save them for another day. Experimenting is the word she liked to use to describe what she was doing, when in reality that "experiment" became an everyday thing for her.Her father overdosed when she was at a party, high on acid; 30 missed calls cost her, her dad's life. Was she the one to blame? 30 missed calls turned into 30 days of unexplained absences at school, education was no longer her priority; her priority was now how long could she go without using drugs.

Chapter 4: Few Too Many

Her pale, malnourished skin turned into skin-and-bones, her meals turned into anti-depressants, the dry taste of the white and green capsule and her shelter turned into the roof of a stranger's car. Every time she would run her fingers through her greasy hair, clumps would fall out each time; only getting bigger and bigger. The bags underneath her eyes got worse as time went on and her ribs became more visible. She was a coward; her story would only be recited in her artwork. She was an artist with the brush and an artist with the blade, whether it was crimson red acrylic or crimson red beads made up of blood. She lived in constant fear, cowardliness and overall, just guilt; guilty for being so selfish for having these thoughts. "Have you ever tried using an elastic band? Have you ever used fake blood and an elastic band? If you ever have these thoughts, try and distract yourself by going for a walk or even listening to music." Were the words that were repeatedly said to her when she opened up to someone. A walk turned into leaving and never coming back, music turned into her only way to escape this world of never-ending spiraling thoughts. "How are you today?" asked the teacher. "Good" replied the student. However, what the teacher was not aware of is that when she went home, she would come back to school the next day with 5 more cuts, 4 more bruises, 3 more burns, 2 more blunt blades and 1 less reason to live to see another day.

Chapter 5: The Last Goodbye

Enough was enough, all her pain was going to come to an end. With the help of a razor, she cuts deep enough into the sides of her wrists and lets everything go. A doorknob turns, and she lets out a loud cry, she feels her knees buckling and she falls with a hard thump to the floor. The lady that had brought this beautiful girl into the world, had now witnessed her take her own life. 

Written by Jacquetta Plaza.