Most sane notes entry 😻
"I don't know who I really am. I'm not sure if it's even possible to. I feel the ground beneath myself crumbling and the weight of a thousand years on my shoulders. Every nerve in my body is screaming with agony. Loss. All I can think about is how I wailed on my bedroom floor while clawing at my hair. I'm only a nice person when I'm drugged. I know that. Every hope I've had for myself feels delusional. Like I was holding on to fantasies to make up for my past. For my self. Better days were futile attempts at normalcy.
I used to long for someone to see the grave I've dug for myself and pull me out. I don't want that anymore. I don't want anyone near me when I spiral into despair. I don't want to taint the image they have of me when I start lashing out in desperation. I am an outsider in my own consciousness. The only defenses I have against adversity and hopelessness have turned inwards.
I think of Dante descending the steps of hell, the horrors he witnessed are faint apparitions compared to what lives inside me. I want to sleep, be rewarded with a few moments of peaceful nothing while I'm unconscious. You think you're safe? Sleep, let the gates of hell burst open unguarded, spew out what's caged. Witness your loved ones die in your arms, feel them go limp, watch their eyes glaze over. Call out to god in vain, beg for his mercy. For forgiveness. Hold you breath waiting for a response that doesn't arrive. Run. They're coming for you. Keep running. They will find you, they always do."
"I don't know who I really am. I'm not sure if it's even possible to. I feel the ground beneath myself crumbling and the weight of a thousand years on my shoulders. Every nerve in my body is screaming with agony. Loss. All I can think about is how I wailed on my bedroom floor while clawing at my hair. I'm only a nice person when I'm drugged. I know that. Every hope I've had for myself feels delusional. Like I was holding on to fantasies to make up for my past. For my self. Better days were futile attempts at normalcy.
I used to long for someone to see the grave I've dug for myself and pull me out. I don't want that anymore. I don't want anyone near me when I spiral into despair. I don't want to taint the image they have of me when I start lashing out in desperation. I am an outsider in my own consciousness. The only defenses I have against adversity and hopelessness have turned inwards.
I think of Dante descending the steps of hell, the horrors he witnessed are faint apparitions compared to what lives inside me. I want to sleep, be rewarded with a few moments of peaceful nothing while I'm unconscious. You think you're safe? Sleep, let the gates of hell burst open unguarded, spew out what's caged. Witness your loved ones die in your arms, feel them go limp, watch their eyes glaze over. Call out to god in vain, beg for his mercy. For forgiveness. Hold you breath waiting for a response that doesn't arrive. Run. They're coming for you. Keep running. They will find you, they always do."
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