There are all these words that I can’t say. All floating around in my head. Sometimes I can just about make out snippets the rest of the time it’s just nonsense but because I don’t know the words I can’t say them out loud and get them out.
That’s when the universe gets stuck in my throat. Like a knotted scream of word jumble waiting to escape, but I don’t know the words, so instead I say nothing.
It’s something to do with the way I feel. Perhaps that’s why I can’t say the words because I don’t know how I feel. I feel everything, I feel nothing. How do you describe that?
If I could open my mouth and all the words would come tumbling out.
I feel pointless. Like there is no point to any of this. Either I’m too stupid or too clever to see the point, because everyone else can see it. Things will not get better, I am sure of that. Sure there will be days where it seems better, but I’m living in monochrome, there is light and there is dark, I live in the dark and can see the light, but I can’t move into it. Everyone else lives in technicolour, all of the colours of the rainbow. I should quit now before I become more bitter.
I wish euthanasia was legal in this country. Then it wouldn’t be considered suicide. Perhaps, if it was considered voluntary euthanasia rather than suicide, my family would be happy for me. I’ve achieved all that I want to, I can’t achieve any more, there is nothing else I want to achieve. If quality of life is poor, and I can’t say I’m enjoying this life, then perhaps I have my reasons. Even if this illness is not considered terminal, it should be because I will not be cured, despite the fact that I am being treated my quality of life sucks. I can’t change this. I could just stop, hibernate in my bed and wait for it all to go away, but it won’t, it will still be there when I remove the covers.
I wish I’d never been born. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be alive. I should be allowed to opt out. Push the button. Fall asleep.
Why is it when you’re in Doctors surgery no one makes eye contact? Everyone sitting in rows, one chair apart?
Why is it when I’m talking to the Doctor everything goes out of my head that I wanted to say. I don’t want to be alive any more, I want some help with that. I forgot. You think the pills aren’t working? Here, just up the dose, come back in two weeks. It doesn’t matter that you are tired all the time, it’s probably the pills, the pills you can’t live without because you turn into more of a nutter. Quality of life, not quantity, thirty years is enough.
My brother expects me to go to London next week. I already told him I’d rather kill myself than get on a train and go to the hustle and bustle that is London. Two trains and then a walk to the solicitors to sort out my Nans will. It doesn’t matter, she is dead anyway. Who cares who gets her stuff? Not in a disrespectful way, more like I would rather have her than her stuff.
Why do I care so much? Why does no one else care? What is wrong with me? Why do you leave the dog in it’s kennel all day, never check it, don’t worry about what it wants and needs? Is this where I am different? I see the dog suffer and will do anything to make it stop, it hurts me to see that. You see the dog suffer but it doesn’t change your day. Either I’m too stupid or too clever to understand. If I close my eyes it doesn’t go away. If my life stops, so does the suffering because all of this could just be a bad dream and then I won’t feel any more. I don’t know why I do this job. I can’t save everything and it is a losing battle against people who don’t give a shit.
I didn’t know what I wanted. I cut and burned my skin. I still didn’t know and had to steal more blades because the old ones are too blunt, which shocked me. My lighter is running out of fluid. I am not proud of what I did, but neither am I sorry because there is nothing else I can do.
I remember everything in the minutest detail, but I’m pretty much sure that everyone else will forget. Remembering hurts. Being mindful doesn’t always work. Sometimes the sun shining through the leaves on the trees, warming your skin, is enough to trigger a flash back, but I’m not sure which one, there have been so many. On those days everything turns into a trigger.
Sleep is the closest thing I can get to death, but it is difficult to find. You can try to catch it, but it is not something you can find, it finds you.
Off to wallow in the word soup. Don’t worry, I am safe, I just wish I could go to sleep and not wake up or become less clever or less stupid so I can understand why I am here.
Love Sailor xox