The partial moon was glistening over a calm, rhythmic sea. I broke the beautiful light with my bare feet, embraced in the warm waters, and watched as it danced in chaotic perfection all around me. I never felt this at peace, this light and open. With the warm breeze tousling my hair I became drunk on the sensations around me. Without a person in sight I was able to breath, finally. And let my self think. Think about what had brought me here, what I would have to return to inevitably.
I probably eat about a half a meal a day, if that.. does a muffin and a bite of noodles count?
I don’t have any type of eating disorder. It’s a combination of being broke and depressed. Not depressed the way I would starve myself intentionally but depressed in the way that it’s hard to get out of bed and rummage around my sparse kitchen to throw something together.
I hate when people ask me how I’m doing or what’s wrong because there’s no answer for that. I’m not good, okay, fine, great, none of the above. I’m doing fucking horrible and every day feels like a sea of broken glass tearing at my flesh as I crawl through it. How do you say that? How do you tell someone you’re not okay and you don’t know why or when you ever will be because you have depression and everything that could go wrong in your life does and everyone you love leaves and you are just so completely and utterly alone that you can barely breath in the dark abyss that has become your world?
I’m used to people misjudging me. I’m used to being a living assumption based on my appearance and social media presence, based on the put together show I put on for everyone because I know they will not understand the truth, nor care. To an outsider my panic attacks and mental breakdowns may look like a bad mood, negativity, bitchiness. While I’m being suffocated and consumed by shades of bruised blues and purples and willing every atom in my body to appear normal and to not let my eyes overflow with an ocean of salty tears and my legs collapse beneath me they are giving me dirty looks and whispering bitch.
Did you run out of breath reading that last sentence? I did.
I am not made of stone, quite contrary. My bones are porcelain and my heart is a thin, delicate sculpture of fine crystal that has a deep fissure for every heartache I’ve survived.
I found someone who I thought loved me. I was cared for, well fed and happy. I was plumped and glowing with health, love and warmth. Maybe it wasn’t right. Maybe it was toxic and wrong that the love came with a controlling price, that those same arms that kept me safe held me a little too tightly. Maybe it’s good it’s gone.
I guess you never really know if it’s a monster or your soulmate that you lost because anything that occupied a warm spot in your heart would leave a cold hole behind when it was gone.
I fear I am withering away. I fear I will wake and be nothing but bone and tight leather, that my very essence and life force fades every day. When I look into my reflection I see sunken cheeks and a fragile figure, my bones are prominent and my neck is elegantly thin. When I cry my small shoulders shake violently as if any moment they could break off from my torso, turning to dust and regret.
The light in my eyes has faded and the spark in my soul has been snuffed out.
I pray now.
I pray to an unknown force in the universe that I can only hope is listening because I don’t know what to do anymore and I can’t bare the thought that there’s nothing out there looking out for me. They say if you are only praying when you are desperate it is too late and your soul is damned. Could my soul be damned? Am I ruined? Is there any hope left for me?
I feel weak and fragile. I don’t know how much more I can take of this cruel and unforgiving environment.
Most days I go about my daily routine in a comfortably numb state. The loneliness is partially self-inflicted, I can own that. But partially is a key word, you see people don’t really like me. My mother always said we brought out the worst in people because they saw the best in us and it made them see the ugly in themselves. I don’t know if that’s true. I do know that people don’t stick around me though, and if they do they turn nasty and one of us gets hurt.
I openly and lovingly accept the thought of death. It’s hard for me to admit but there are times, too many times, I hope something horrible happens to me. I want to be one of those girls who was left alone a little too long in a little too dark of an area and just vanished. No trace, no body, just an empty spot in the world that used to be occupied. The big bold letters MISSING followed by my name, a timeless mystery never solved, leaving the ones who didn’t hold on to me tight enough with a pit of regret in their stomachs and a never ending question of what if? No peace. No closure.
It is a regrettably selfish desire I would never speak aloud, but still, a desire.
The sounds of the water lapping over itself allows me to walk through my mind with ease. Normally it is too scary, too dark, too damaged. I don’t like to be alone with my thoughts for too long. It’s too hard to keep everything contained and controlled.
I bullshitted my way through counseling because I don’t believe anyone can help you but yourself. And if you’re not strong enough you’re not ready. I guess that says more about the counsellor than it does me, is it not their job to see through the sane act?
Maybe I can’t heal myself because a part of me feels safe and protected by the pain and the darkness. It has been inside of me for so long I guess I truly could not want to get rid of it, I could be clinging to it because I am terrified I will lose everything that makes me, me without it.
Maybe I’m just rambling now.
I peered up at the moon’s face for the first time. I liked the water’s painting of it much better, the real thing was disappointing and dull. I frowned and looked back to the dancing shards of light around my feet.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I couldn’t quite make out the tall, dark figure approaching.
I felt a chill roll down my spine but did not move