My Fucking Mess Of A Life

Slits.

I've been started on new medication. This time it's for my panic attacks. That's three pills in all, not counting the Tylenol for my frequent headaches. I wasn't listening when my psychiatrist was explaining the new drug. My mom was though. Apparently I was supposed to take it at dinner with food. I fucked up. I took it this morning and I wasn't hungry so I didn't eat. I wish I had. I wish I had forced food down my throat, even if it made me gag. It was about ten minutes or so later when I started to feel the pain. It was like cramps but not just in my abdomen. It was everywhere. I couldn't stand it. Eventually it went away. I went about my day a bit subdued, but that's nothing new. It was around five when I started to feel weird. I felt almost empty. I was drained and running on autopilot. I went to the park hoping to clear my head a bit but it didn't work. I still felt odd. I ate dinner and talked to my friend and even when I was laughing, I didn't feel right. I couldn't shake this feeling. Now it almost four hours later and I've realized something. I can't cry. I feel like I want to cry but I can't for some reason. It's odd. I don't like it. I feel trapped. Crying isn't always fun, but at least it let's it out. Now I can't do that. I'm slightly scared. It's not just that. My thoughts, the something. It's repeating the same thing over. 'Slit your wrists, slit your wrists, take the pills, die, slit your wrists and take the pills and just die already.' I don't like it. I can't exactly recall a time it's ever said that, at least in such a straight forward way. The voice that tries to fight is trying to give me reasons not to. 'You'll never see another video from your favorite YouTubers again, you'll never get the two dogs, the Alaskan husky and golden retriever you want, you won't ever get to become an animator or illustrator, etc.' I want to believe it. I want to be able to do those things, but I'm so tired. I don't like the something in my head that hates me. I don't know how to get rid of it. I'm quite surprised that it's telling me to slit my wrists. I've never really thought about that option. I mean, I've definitely thought about it, I just always thought it would hurt too much. I guess now that I now that it doesn't hurt as much as I thought, I consider it and option. I wouldn't do horizontal lines. That wouldn't kill me. Even if it did it would take a few. I don't want that. One, deep, quick, vertical slit up my arm, wrist to elbow. That along with pills, of course. I see the image in my head. For some reason, I'm transfixed with the mental image of a large cut on my arm, blood seeping out too quickly. I don't know why it's so entrancing to me. I don't think I should be like this. I don't think this is safe. I shouldn't like the image in my head. Yet I do. It looks strangely appealingly to me. Despite how enticing it is to picture and think about, I know I'm not going to do it. At least not tonight.

5/10/17