Death cure

Not doing so great recently, unfortunately. I keep going from phase to phase. Good days and bad days. Currently at endless overthinking and obsessing again. Feels like I’m back to square one and it’s so irrational that I don’t even know why.

Partly because of a random phone call last week asking me, “Did you see my message? I’m at [location], guess who’s here??” Don’t know why but I knew straight away… Then I received two photos that were rather blur and dim. But I would have recognised that silhouette and posture anywhere.

Really nothing worth paying attention to but as always, my mind manages to make nothing into something. Kept thinking thank goodness I wasn’t there because I don’t trust myself to act normally and it would be just awkwardness of epic proportions. Yet also kinda wanted to be there so that I could see for myself… which is a bad sign.

So much for all that I’ve done to make myself think less. Baby steps such as unfriending on Facebook. Of course I didn’t want to do it but I had to, for the sake of my sanity. And they worked for awhile too… until now. That one call just unravelled everything. Is it always going to be like that? Making what you think is progress only to realise you’ve achieved zilch.

I should just delete the two photos but as usual I choose to torture myself. Haven’t deleted anything actually, not even the old convos I still can’t bring myself to re-read. Can’t bear to. Memories are all I have left and I can’t lose them too. The ones in my brain will probably get fuzzy eventually so I need to hold on to whatever physical ones I have left.

“Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.”
– Bella Swan, New Moon

Remembering hurts so much that sometimes I wonder if it might be just easier to simply forget. Get Harry Potter to perform a Memory Charm on me or something.

But no… I don’t want to forget. In fact, ever since long ago, I had always been so afraid of forgetting that I would write down everything that happened and everything that I felt in my mobile diary app, right down to the smallest detail.

One entry describing a few hours could be as long as… I don’t know, my New Zealand article? I just couldn’t talk to anyone about it so the only thing I could do was write. Relieving the good days made me happy. Relieving the not so good ones made me feel better after I let it all out.

The diary app is password protected and I’ve never shown it to anyone. Solely my memories and my story. Things I’ll always hold close to my heart. Call it self-inflicted torture, call me foolish, but I can’t afford to forget any of that.

“No compulsion. I need to remember. All of it.”
– Elena Gilbert, Vampire Diaries 3×05

Anyway, was upset the whole weekend after the call. So much so that I went on anonymous chatrooms and niche forums, listening to or reading about similar stories.

I feel like I have hit rock bottom. I even bought self-help books months ago. At least they are the healthier alternatives. I’ve tried so many things to stop the pain. Drinking myself silly and having a cryfest that more often than not ends up with me physically injuring myself by accident. Burying myself in work. Reading in bed till I’m tired enough to fall asleep.

All of them do help in some way… but it’s all limited and temporary. Just want to stop thinking. Even before the call, my emotions had already been starting to slip downhill for reasons unknown to myself. Just like how I’ve never known loss and grief like this. Not even when a pet died.

I know how pathetic I must look but who cares. Like what this Thought Catolog article says… so what? So I have feelings… bite me. Just writing for myself and it’s gonna be one of those quiet posts that I won’t share on social media.

Two weeks ago, I went to bed at 8pm because I was so tired (hoping to work myself to death maybe… it’s a lot more socially acceptable right). It was meant to be a nap but I only woke up at 6am.

The first thing I felt was this lingering sadness… I could actually feel this metaphorical cloud of depression swirling above me, threatening to swallow me in. I just lay there feeling so empty, like everything is just so bloody pointless and insignificant. Then I went back to sleep.

Dead on the inside. The butterflies that I used to get have all died. The exhilaration and happiness I used to once feel have electrocuted me to death. Burnt by the now missing sunshine I used to think was so glorious. Overdosed on the drug that made me feel incredible highs and crippling lows.

Surrounded by angels who I feel have been put into my life to help me get through this… but it’s the devil that haunts my dreams.

The cure is also the poison… Wish you had just killed me then.