I remember when I was younger and I would feel this way. An overwhelming sadness due to an accumulation of things. I never knew what it was exactly that brought it on or exactly what to focus on while I was sad. Rather it was like my heart was just tired and heavy from all the crap I had absorbed.
Back then I would lay in bed and just sob. Body heaving, snot inducing sobs. Racking my body, feeling myself shudder and shake.
Tonight that feeling came back, welcome old friend I said to myself. I was momentarily happy as I thought about how long it’s been since I felt this way and then suddenly a sad song came on my random playlist and I sank back.
I laid here quietly and three tears ran from my right eye. I felt them stream down my face and felt as though I could hear them dropping onto my pillow. And that was it.
I don’t know if I should be worried that it’s come to this. Or maybe I should be happy that I’m not as distraught as I use to be, or maybe I’m just handling things better now that I’m older. The poetic me wants to say that maybe I ran out of tears and the silly me says maybe I have to start rationing.
You can only hide behind your sunglasses for so long little girl
Before the tear drops start dripping down your cheeks
Hold your breath as you try to hold it all in
Suffocating in your own skin
Hoping no one sees the real you
To the softness within
You’re only hope is that it might rain
To disguise the pain that you’re in
Whenever I’m tired, drained physically and mentally from too much work I tend to break down in tears at the slightest provocation. They don’t have my favorite candy that I’ve been craving? Tears instantly. I wake up late for work, torrential downpour of tears. The worst part about it though is I then beat myself up for being weak. My inner voice tells me how pathetic I am and all this regret and anxiety attacks me.
And I know all I need is a good rest and probably something to eat but I just can’t. The voice beats me down and so I can’t sleep. The depression makes me not want to get out of bed. So I’m trapped. The only thing that makes it slightly bearable is smoking weed. It makes the anxiety lessen and dulls the voice of anxiety but it’s only a quick fix and doesn’t last long. Sooner or later it comes back. All I can do is keep running.
Writing keeps me level
Right now I need to be level. My heartbeat is high. My anxiety feels like a pot of water ready to boil over. When this feeling hits the only way I can let go is by hurting myself. So I cut, I punch, I bang my head against things. In the past I’ve broken a hairbrush against my head, leaving a big bump that I would touch for days afterwords. The pain being like a memory to let go. Cutting myself helped too. The sting during and after made it easier to breath, as though the tiny cuts in my arm were a tracheotomy.
Can someone convulse with stress? Is that possible. Am I overrescting. Why is it I can’t kill myself like my father. I wonder if he ever felt this way.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
EAT SHIT AND DIE YOU STUPID SELFISH PIG. I HOPE YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE WHEN YOU REALIZE YOUR IDEALISTIC VIEW OF THE WORLD IS JUST IGNORANT BULLSHIT. AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
*takes a sip of water*