Why do I feel that way, why do I feel the need to be broken? I'm tearing myself apart. The will to die, will it always linger in me? Constantly tempting me with freedom and rest, being pain free, at peace, become one with or leave Anna, coming home. Will I be suicidal for life? Intentionally or subconsciously constantly shortening my own life with bad habits, just in case I won't die within those three or four years, or just because of that.
Am I always suicidal, just more or less? Don't I wish for that next cigarette to give me lung cancer, for that next dose of pills to kill my liver, for that next breath to be be my last? That maybe if I starve myself long enough I'd eventually die from malnutrition, or that at some point if I manage to stay awake long enough my body will give out completely. Without taking more pills than I should, or slitting my arms too deep, or anything directly deadly, don't I still have that vague hint of a feeling that I just wish this could be my last day in this hell? Yes...
A memory from when I was in a psych ward in Uppsala two years ago that will never leave my mind. A guy there, he was funny, a truck driver in his late 30's. I can't remember his name, or even what he looked like except from blue jeans and shaved head. He said something, can't remember the exact words, or the word, but I can't forget it. Something about us smokers committing suicide methodically or contemplated. I had never until then thought about it that way, but he was so right.
It's amazing what truly amazing people you meet within those walls. When we are the most vulnerable, broken or uncontrollable. Sharing cigarettes and slipping pills when the staff isn't looking. It's a world of its own.
I'm falling again. Thought I was in bad shape yesterday? Well today it's even worse. I've stopped eating and started popping caffeine pills again. I won't take my sleeping pills or sedatives or do anything that will calm me down too much. I'm feeding my anxiety and sadness instead of trying to ease it. Why? I don't know, but I seem to purposely make myself feel worse.
Maybe it's like when you get angry and accidentally break something that you like, so you get even more angry, but instead of trying to fix the thing you broke, you break it even more.
But I won't kill myself. Not more than I already do at least. I'm satisfied by these means of self harm that will probably harm me in the now as well as in the long run. That was all I was writing about, so don't get any ideas.
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