So, here we go.
I've been meaning to do this for a while, I guess. I'm too tired most of the time - how can a piece of paper have any meaning when sometimes the entire world doesn't?
Oh, here she goes. The classic 'oh, poor me' or the commonly favoured 'I just want help'. I don't know much about the world and sometimes I don't want to, it drains me. All of the 'what if's' and 'well, maybe's'. It's gotten worse, it's got to a point where I can't have a simple opinion on things as it all quickly becomes too much. I balance on a fine line and sometimes that line isn't even visible to me, let alone to the rest of the world.
It feels like the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders, I struggle to climb a rope that isn't even there, and I feel smothered by my own skin. It feels like screaming but to everyone else you are silent, they walk on as if the demons of your mind aren't spinning a web of self doubt and internal destruction. But who am I to expect them to see something that I can't even explain myself.
I have different days. There are bad days, and there are worse days. Sometimes they're different demons though, one of those demons rips meaning away from all that held purpose and the other twists with my mind until it's not just my mind that spins, but the world around it too.
I try to talk and people 'listen'. The problem with humans is that we only hear what we want to. I get the merit of trying to see the bright side and not jumping to conclusions, but when I tell you facts and you blatantly disregard them it has the opposite effect. I'm telling you something is wrong - why aren't you hearing me?
Some days are worse than others - that's true of everyone, is it not? But I just doubt that other people's 'bad days' involve feeling like you're trapped in a glass box, watching the rest of the world move forward, while you're left behind to hug yourself as if you're the only thing left that grounds you. Is feeling so exhausted that inhaling and exhaling seems like the most agonising chore you've ever faced, classed as normal?
I can't put it into words. I can't find it in me to breathe, so how am I supposed to get up and act like everything's ok?
I feel so inexplicably isolated, lonely and 'sad'; yet I still feel nothing at all. The seconds blur to minutes, the minutes to hours and the hours to days. Everything goes slowly but so unbelievably quickly at the same time. My life is one of opposites.
Sadness isn't a word to describe this demon - it's too weak a word. Then again, words are weak. Actions speak louder than words, and when I paint a smile on my face or I cover my bleak and swollen eyes; I am aching. Some may say these actions raise alarm but what you don't know can't hurt you, right? I don't know.
The other demons laugh at this. This whole damn thing. They say that I'm stupid. Stupid to think that anyone will listen. Stupid to think anyone could understand. They say that I'm dramatic, that it's not real, that I'm attention seeking. They say it's all in my head, they're right - it is. That's the problem, you can't run away from your own mind; believe me, I've tried.
I like calling them my demons, that way they aren't apart of me and yet the use of the word 'my' signifies that they are undeniably tethered to me in some shape or form.
They are my beasts, and I belong to them.
*not completed entry*
