Scream In The Dark


I feel completely lost. The days are like clouds passing by on a clear, gloomy autumn evening. No matter how much I plan to do something productive, these lines are the only ones that come anywhere near this aspiration. I am already back at the daily grind of self-destruction. The referral for the clinic as well as my medical file have been lying in my room for a week and a half because I have not yet managed to gather the necessary energy and submit all relevant documents. I feel guilty because I promised Maya that I would take care of it, but for some reason I just can’t do it. I can’t manage to leave my apartment to do the things that are really important and could help me. I would love to scream because I’m unable to handle even the simplest things. And yet I know how necessary, how important it all is. Instead, my life passes before my eyes and I am condemned to be an eternal spectator. Fuck. I have no idea what to do. My pulse is racing. I feel like crying. Right now I’m craving a knife. There are so many knives in this room. I’m just exhausted. Me, the world, everything. I wish I could see some way out or some way to deal with these feelings better, but I lack the competence to do so. I know that I can’t go any further without help, but that help is miles away and it is incredibly challenging for me to look for it. No matter how necessary it may be. It seems incredibly paradoxical that I struggle so hard to take this step, even though it is the only reasonable one in my current situation. Somehow I have to manage to get away from this fucked up, self-destructive shit and actually manage to start doing things that are beneficial for my mind for once. I feel like I’m running in circles every day. I don’t know how many times at this point I have written about how much I need to seek help precisely because I can’t go on alone anymore. I am sure that I have pointed out again and again on a multitude of occasions that my current life cannot go on like this. Well, it could, but it shouldn’t. I wondered a while ago whether I would survive my thirtieth birthday. To be honest, at this point, I simply don’t know. Yes, I think that the odds are not completely fucked, but I also know my current mental state and it looks anything but promising. Do I even want to turn thirty? Is it worth it? I have not the slightest idea what to expect. Whether it is even worth the effort. I posted the knife text from yesterday on Facebook. A few people seemed to think it was pretty good. Maybe I was unconsciously helping someone. I wish I had. It’s all so crazy. My head is playing Ping-Pong with an insane approach. Everything is spinning. I clearly had too much to drink. I don’t even remember why I write these completely absurd words here. At least at this point I realize that I have obviously consumed too much alcohol again. Anyway, this is another aspect that has to be considered. This vice is definitely something I have to work on in a much more permanent way. Either I destroy the rest of the liquor standing around my home or I gain so much emotional behavioral control that it is easy for me to resist the need for a drink. This also seems necessary. There are so many things that I should ideally pay attention to. My head feels super fucked up. Not just because of the alcohol, but in general. At least I think so. I’ve been feeling kind of off my game all day today. Depersonalized is the term, if I remember correctly. Again and again I lost touch with what most people perceive as the self. Most of the time I was just a mute observer standing next to it, unable to take even one reasonable step. Fuck. I really have to go to the clinic. It’s becoming more and more obvious. Everything seems so absurd. But I’m definitely not going to be able to cope on my own.

You are a decent human being. Behave accordingly.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s