The Marrero Chronicles

11:12:20

I'm strong.
I'm strong.
I'm strong.
I have to tell myself this every day. I'm always dealing with interference throughout my journey and it's so frustrating. All I want to do sometimes is just give up. I have to sit down and reflect on how I feel, and I have to cry and shout at myself that I'm strong enough. My eating disorder doesn't define me. My depression doesn't define me. I can do something great. I can write a book. I can make some clothes. I can do it.

And I don't. I don't because I wake up every morning literally fighting for my life every day knowing that a part of me wants to die. I don't because just getting out of bed is fucking exhausting. Brushing my hair and my teeth presents it's own challenge every single morning. Getting dressed is it's own chore.

My fiancée tells me that I have potential, that I'm beautiful. I'm worth everything. He gets upset because I told him I can't believe him. I want to, but I can't. It's not because I don't trust him. It's because I don't have the belief in myself to believe it. I have grown up thinking I was worth nothing and that my damaged soul would never find happiness or peace. I always feel like it's hard to breathe; like I have no space. That feeling never goes away and it SUCKS.

All I want more than anything is for it to disappear.

I'm strong.
I'm strong.
I'm strong.

I'll keep fighting. I can't give up because I remember how agonizing Makayla's death was. Everyone was in so much pain and as much as I yearn to die, I can't put my selfish needs before the people I love. I can't shatter their hearts. I live for them. We've all been through Hell and back and I don't have it in me to add to their pain even if I think I'll finally be at peace.

My soul might always be tortured, but I have hope that I'll find my way. When I publish each of these chapters, I might repeat some things a lot. I don't even realize that I do it, but when I'm writing it's as if my thumbs are speaking for me and the words don't stop or slow down even if they've been said before. Every time I've been able to hit the publish button, I feel like I can breathe. I've done something extraordinary. I shared my pain with you, with the world. What am I looking for? Redemption? Responses? I'm not looking for anything but relief. So far sharing these thoughts with the world is the only time I can feel free, weightless. I walk around all day with this intangible pesty weight strapped to my chest and it's only in these brief moments when I can stand up tall, and breathe.

Only you, dear reader knows how I feel. I can't speak any of this out of my mouth. I never have been able to and I don't know why. I just...always feel stuck. The words can't come out and I'm mute. Please get to know me. The all of me. The good parts of me. The horrible horrific suicidal parts of me. I'm more than a number. I know it deep down somewhere I'm worth more, but I can't find it! Just hear me please. I'm knocking, my fists pounding on the door, and I'm screaming for you to let me in because it's so damn dark in here. I'm cold. I'm alone.

I yearn for someone to just say "I know how you feel. You're doing so well. Good job, staying alive today. You can do it. " because it feels like no one knows how it feels to fight for air even when your lungs aren't physically struggling.

I AM HERE.

I'm a human being. I bleed, I cry, I live, evolve, and die. My heart can be broken. My body can be bruised. I can feel repulsed, betrayed, and violated too. I have an endless variety of emotions and facial expressions. I went from being a Hannah Montana fan girl and singing with my cousins in the attic playing a game of pool, to being a torn apart teenager becoming haunted, stalked, and dreading life. Now I'm a new adult, and I've experienced more pain than most thirty year olds my previous psychiatrist knew. All I seek is acceptance and validation. I just want to be seen. To be heard. By anyone, or anything. I want all of the little girls and boys and people of all ages reading these words and knowing that pain is normal. Pain is a part of life, and when it gets this bad it's because you buried it within yourself for YEARS. Don't let it catch you. Depression is a bitch.

Everyone is so afraid to reveal their pain. I was too. It's worse feeling suffocated and judged when you don't have to feel judged. It's easier to convince yourself you aren't depressed and put on a fake smile to fool everyone's eyes. It's more difficult to stand up and introduce your trauma into people's ears and having them grimace and shush you along. It's so much worse! Fuck! Stop judging people for their trauma and instead give that poor person a chance! A hug. A bagel. Reassurance. Anything. It's those small things that keep us from thinking about jumping off of the Golden Gate Bridge and going through with it because of feeling rejected and alone.

Tell me that you hear me. Am i too hard to understand? Is this too much? I'm sorry. I apologize for being so raw but after holding it in for thirteen years out of the eighteen that I have been living..it needs to be let go. All of this built up despair and pain needs to be free somewhere else. I can't hate myself anymore. It's too hard to keep up with it.

I need to learn to regain love for myself.