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Written by: Backward http://aminoapps.com/p/13rjog
Original post: http://aminoapps.com/p/8bfg1g
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
tw: drugs, depression, suicidal thoughts, ptsd
2 years 6 months and 24 days
2 years 6 months and 24 days. that’s how long it’s been. that’s how long i’ve been stuck as this person. more like this shell of a person, then a whole human really. just this body, face, and eyes, but deep down behind this facade, it’s empty. can’t wake myself from the nightmares, because i’m still living it over and over again. i don’t know if i’ll ever stop, not really. this must be insanity, doing the same thing over and over until you become hollow. remember when i was still naive, innocence was still mine, when the world seemed so light and clear. that i thought more about what i wanted to do in this life than how and when i wanted to die. because i get so tired sometimes i just wanna die. i was introduced to the dark so young and now i’m lost in the dark.
cravings hit different at 3am
staring into the dark. there’s nothing to think about except the clawing in the pit of my stomach. i need it. i need it. i need it. i wouldn’t be sobbing at 3:13 am if i had it. just a little taste of it, allow it to fill me up and ease the pain. the stinging in my mind. it would be too easy, just to slip back into the hole i’ve crawled out of. just one little shove, because my mind is fragile, and want versus need is a broken thing. i know what i need and i know what i want, and it’s ripping me to shreds. the careful distractions don’t work at 3am, there’s nothing that decorates my ceiling to pull me away from the thoughts. the crave aches through me and i fear my devil of addiction may never leave me.
i sorta hit rock bottom but that’s okay
i don’t know when i decided i hit rock bottom, but i don’t there’s anything lower than this. lower than this feeling. when the mask starts to fail and the dark eye bags are too obvious to the world. when it’s not just my mom asking if im okay, but the barista at the downtown coffee shop. when the doctor wonders why i go from gaining ten pounds in a week to losing fifteen. i don’t know doc, you tell me. tell me how much i need to gain weight. if i wasn’t nauseous every minute of every day, believe me, i would. and you, you’re the worst of them all, you’ve been stuck with me for two years. we have this unstable relationship where you give me advice and criticize what i’m doing and i ignore all of your suggestions. but i’ve been a stubborn hothead for two years, this is nothing new. so you become more frustrated and start to yell. maybe we should stop, i love you, and thank you, but i don’t know if i can sit through another fourty-five minute session with you. i’m sick of therapy.
