A secret told

Yeah... I write poems about Anna and I realise how complicated our situation really is. She's not evil, she's not good, she's human and so am I. Maybe she's more human than I am. I wouldn't doubt it.

I'm listening to "Forever" by The Birthday Massacre on repeat and she sings "sometimes when I close my eyes I hear a voice" and although it's not entirely fitting, it still makes me think about Anna.

Is it hopeless? I don't know. I don't think I know the true meaning of that word. I'm hopeless, maybe that's better, or at least closer to the truth. Hopelessly devoted to her and everything she's been during these 17 years by my side, occupying my head to the brim.

You don't just start talking about a secret you've kept for almost 10 years. What's wrong with me? No seriously, what is wrong with me? My curiosity just tipped the table and I can't deal anymore. With anything.

I'm crumbling and losing touch with reality and life. I didn't tell my contact person that, that I'm tired of living and slowly starting to get suicidal again. I don't want her or anyone else forcing me back to the ward when that's the last place I want to be forced into.

Though I've never been, forced to a psychiatric ward. Once, maybe, I don't know. That would be after my most serious suicide attempt, the overdose and the 11th one. I don't know if I was forced or not that time. I only remember it vaguely. But I sigh as I suddenly get a feeling that I will try to kill myself at least 2 more times before I'll actually die. Siiiiiigh, I really don't want to deal with more of that shit.

17 times, wouldn't that just be...? Like, come on, seriously?! I've got better things to do than trying to die without succeeding to. I've been chain smoking since I got home and I cannot stop. I've been trying to kill myself since I was 16 and I can't stop with that either. I remember, when I was 16 or 17 that I thought 4 suicide attempts was good. I had heard about it in a movie or something, and I thought it had a good ring to it.

Tell me, I know I'm nuts for thinking such things, but I thought it, alright? And now, with 15 failed attempts behind me and I can only remember half of them, barely, I don't know if there is a magic number.

All I know is that I don't want even more useless attempts in my history, enough is enough. But I can't help this nagging feeling, and I'm sooo very divided right now you won't believe it! On one hand I'm scared of dying before turning 28 and desperately want to pack in my entire life within those two years from now; while on the other hand I don't think I'll last for another month, or maybe another week.

No, I don't plan to kill myself, it's just thoughts. And I do want to live, I just don't know if I can. And at the same time I don't want to live because this stinking life has been forced upon me and the psychiatry sucks. It truly does, and now I'm trapped. If they'll try anything, I mean it fucking anything (force me back to the ward, force antipsychotic drugs into me, whatever) I'll cut the damn strings and fly.

No, again, not literally. Just cutting the strings with the psychiatry. There will be no actual flying. Damn, I'm tired of trying to explain myself. I don't even know whom I'm explaining myself to. There's a chaos in my head and I'm quite lost within it right now. I can't even explain this to myself.

Life, death, become meaningless words. Just different states of existence and how can I ever know which one is better than the other? I'm tired to the bone and I can't rest. I haven't been able to rest for over 10 years. I have my chronic tension headache to thank for that.

Shifting to other songs by The Birthday Massacre as I try to keep myself at least somewhat sane. For a nicotine overdose and more coffee. I should wrap myself up in my robe and start editing again, but I can't find any peace within myself. Can't focus, only breathing exhausts me. And my stomach hurts for no reason, competing with the pain in my head. At least it feels that way. Go away, go away, I tell it but it hardly helps.

I just can't stop thinking about my own death. No matter how soon or far into the future it will occur. I shudder before it. I freeze in the moment as I'm running out of words to write. Tell me again, why I should hang on to this life, cause I've forgotten why, once again.

I'm alive and I breathe but my breath is shallow, my heart is beating but it's broken, my soul still tagging along but it's homesick and scarred. And I want to leave, yet I cling to life desperately. I crumble beneath my mortal fear, it tears me apart and I can't function anymore.

I cut my ties with almost everyone again. I don't function around other people and I don't deserve them. I'll only hurt them if I haven't already. Stay, but I don't know how.