I guess I didn't know where I was going with this post. I'm writing a stream of consciousness from my head, unedited. Usually these posts aren't wise. Fuck it though.
What do you reach for when your hands blistered and burnt slip from the knot at the end of your rope. You lose your grip and find yourself grappling at thin air surrounded by nothing but blackness.
You know that moment, right before you lose your shit? You can feel it coming. For a while you push on, routine for comfort or something but it's like a sixth sense and there's no stopping it. Even though you can feel it coming, again, you still don't know what to do. And so you're this out of control lunatic who is riding the extremes of emotions and always want to feel anything but what you are right now. How it pulls even the numbest of us at our cores. It plays on every fear and insecurity you have, and you don't know what to do? You just don't know what to do.
I shut down.
I deliberately hide away because I know I don't have my shit together and I don't want people to be whispering about it when I wake up.
The few people I would talk to, the one's who I feel could talk me down from the ledge I'm trembling on the edge of, are those who I fear setting them off by talking to them. So I don't.
I don't take chances because I've got some crap probability of like 99.99999% of people who totally freak out when I open up even the tiniest and honestly, I'd rather put on the mask and blame ignorance than outright be turned away.
So I curl up into a ball and tremble. Sometimes the trembling stops and I can get up and dust myself off, sometimes I tremble so violently for so long that I fall off that edge and reach out madly at the surface of the rocky cliff and I hold on for dear life to any jagged little piece while I try to pull myself back to safety.
Sometimes I just fall. For a long time. So long that often I think I've hit the bottom only to realise that the ground has opened up beneath me again and that I wasn't on the bottom at all.
The hardest part about not loving yourself is if you can't love you, no one is going to do it for you.
People aren't drawn to morbidity and self pity. We will watch it like a bad car crash, but we don't want to touch that shit. Just watch, so we can say to ourselves "Well, at least that wasn't me."
I have no disgust in that. We should find comfort in that.
But what happens when you stop? So many times I've heard an awful story, seen awful things and I've felt sad because why does it have to be someone else? Why couldn't it just happen to me? The most undeserving creature. Why couldn't good people keep their good and happy lives and the crap be sent my way. No, I'm not strong enough to carry it all, but I would feel better it happening to me than others. The guilt that I am still not ok and I have something they pine for.
Have you ever been so alone that you make loneliness look like a raving party?