(I actually wrote this in 2007 one cold miserable lonely New England winter night. I never actually published it, I kept it to myself because I felt ashamed of feeling sooo low. Of feeling so low that I even spoke on suicide. But, I feel like it's important for me to share this now...I'm on a journey of self-discovery and I'm not always a happy go lucky funny person. So here's to peeling back the layers and exposing my soul.)
Fuck me, fuck you fuck the world, that's what I say. What the fuck happened to me...why am I so outwardly lovable, but the minute anyone gets too close, it gets all fucked up AND its my fault. Its always my fault. I'm so tired of being alone. I'm so tired of being misunderstood, I'm so tired of superficiality, I'm just tired of it all.
I just don't know anymore...I have so much to live for, but I also have so little to live for. I'm just tired of the same goddamn pain all the goddamn time. I know I know, it'll get better, the pain will go away...blah blah blah, but it never really goes away...it just gets buried until it's time to resurface again. You know what I think...I wish suicide weren't so final. I wish that killing yourself didn't actually mean that life would be over...if only it were like a vacation...a free vacation to get away from your earthly troubles...a chance for you to see what the world is like without you and then...and then when you realise that things weren't so bad after all, well then you could come back and then get yourself back on track.
I already know I'm slowly killing myself: the weight, the weed, the anxiety and depression, but you know...what's an American Black woman to do? Every once in awhile life offers a glimmer of hope and true to a glimmer, it's gone just as quickly. I really don't know how much more of this my heart can take.
No comments:
Post a Comment