Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie. I’d better stop breathing, because my whole life is a lie.
I dreamt last night that you committed suicide. I wept, I was hysterical and I was in agony. Not even the knowledge that I would soon join you could calm me in this nightmare. Waking up was far from bliss, as I struggled to separate dream from reality. It was a small relief to remember although you are apart from me, I know you are still here.
I’m tired of being me. Of being this unstable and determinedly destructive being. I’m perpetually tired- plagued with nightmares and restless, broken, sleep. I suffer from incessant anxiety, not stress. Hands trembling, breathes shaking and heartbeat on a runaway train. I am tortured by both my waking consciousness and sleeping subconsciousness. There is no relief in sleep when nightmares come visiting. I am paranoid that I am constantly doing something wrong, living in ceaseless fear that I will be caught out for doing that something, without knowing it was wrong to begin with. I can’t trust my thoughts or my memories. I can’t trust anyone that I am allowed to talk to with my true self. I am plagued with self-doubt and a black hole that leaves me empty. Never ending emptiness-the quiet times are the dark of the night sky, and the stars the explosions of uncontrolled and overflowing pure emotion that the black hole couldn’t take or spat back out. I long for everything that I can not have-something that every person should have-control. I am not in control of anything in my life any more, except the stifling of every feeling to inside me someplace temporarily safe. I have learnt that showing others my emotions is useless and makes me all the more selfish. I am tired of being me, of living life alone. I don’t want this any more.