Somehow, Somewhere.

I am in pain, and that’s okay. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t go away. I am alone at the library. I am surrounded by people. I feel alone and desperate. Desperate for company and comfort. Comfort. How do I find comfort? Go towards the pain, I guess. Ease into it. I am slowly being able to start reading again. I have a sociology assignment due. Confidence is a muscle. Everything is a muscle. Suffering is a muscle, and I am training to run a marathon. It has become an addiction, and I am unsure how to stop. I am full of torn ligaments. I am a ghost. I am twenty different things which all add up to nothing. I am tired of pessimism. I am tired, period. I need to build structure for myself. I need structure. I need this, I need that. Survival is a trap. Full of needs. Death asks for nothing. That’s not true, death asks for the ultimate sacrifice. Death asks me to give up hope and dreams and breath. I cannot. Sometimes I feel that I have no interest in death, but only an interest in suicide. The act of taking ones own life is so weighted with meaning. If only I could commit suicide without dying. The desire to do so is very muted. This is good. I guess. I’m becoming a cliche. I don’t know how to alter my thoughts. That’s not true. Meditation, cbt. I have the tools. Focus on the fact that things are getting better. But are they? Am I in a better spot than I was in a year ago? I know a lot more about myself, I think. Well, I know at least one thing, one big thing, and that one big thing puts a lot of smaller things into context. Being bipolar, I mean. I feel like a zombie. I feel half dead already. Another half won’t hurt. Yes it will. Don’t go there. Just stop. Red alert. Doomsday clock. What happened to my life? Maybe I was never really going anywhere, or I’ve always been going somewhere, and I’m still going somewhere. Suicide is serious. Death isn’t an abstract, romanticized notion, it’s real and concrete as anything else. I don’t want to die. I have to remember that. I want to live, boldly. Somehow, I need to find a way to live. 

About Moon Eggs

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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