Fading away

I'm almost 26 years old and still find the swings on the playground fascinating. Will I ever grow old? My mindset sometimes still the child's that I was, my soul ancient and then we shouldn't even mention the remains of my heart.

Once again, the coldness doesn't bother me, and I always know since before that that's not a good sign. It's a sign of that I'm falling apart, when suddenly I can no longer feel temperatures. The swings were not too small for me this time, as I've gotten thinner since last I visited them before the summer. I didn't know how to sit on them this time.

Grimston Estate is finally starting to affect me with big feelings without names. I mourn my characters as I for the last time get lost in the tangle of their tragic lives. I love them dearly, but then I'll have to move on. And I love my imaginary town too. A part of me still lives there, one of my places where I like to escape into.

My weekend becomes a poem of its own, and I regret how cold I was with my contact person of the crew a couple of days ago. She was worried and I just snapped at her, tired of people constantly worrying about me. I'm so tired of being a burden. So tired of being trapped in a mess without an end, so tired in my heart, mind, soul and body. And only the tiredness combines them.

Once again, I think about leaving, but I don't even know if I mean that literally or figuratively, in mind or physically, directly or indirectly. The thought captivates me, and I'm lost without directions. Could he ever love me? I ask myself as I try to decide if I should have more coffee or not.

Light up another cigarette instead, and divide my thoughts on K with my thoughts on Grimston Estate. Is there a connection between the two, or am I just entangling myself completely by thinking that there might be a connection when there in fact might not be one? I can't let go of either of them, and maybe that is the connection.

One month has now passed and I'm beside myself and my thoughts. Has he really left me? I think I'll die without him, and still I can't give up. I don't know how, but as everything is just getting a little more hopeless by the minute, I do want to keep holding on. He's not dead and that's what's most important. No, him being happy and alive, that is what's most important.

And I sigh, for I only want one of us to be happy and alive, if he can never love me. But how can he be happy if I leave? Our friendship must mean something to him. I gave him my world, I was willing to give him my world, but yet again, as always with love to me, it never became that way.

Oh, I'm still hoping, wishing, dreaming. Just not as hard anymore. The good thoughts of such have a tendency to slip away when things stand still. And time is still now. Frozen for just one weekend as I slowly lose my appetite for life.

But I'm still here. Though I don't know what's keeping me here. Except all the 15 failures and a 16th failure is just not alluring to me. For weeks now, I've wanted to just tell him that I started listening to his favourite music band, and that I really like them. I guess... I guess I'll hold on to that confession a little longer then.

And now, I'm also getting to a point where hunger doesn't bother me either, and I don't care about eating. Maybe it's just for today, maybe I'll never eat again, although not very likely. I wish I could stop eating. I think it would somehow benefit me. For the worse, of course.

I have a new appointment at the eating disorder unit, I think on Tuesday, but could be Monday or Wednesday, my mother will surely remind me. And I don't know what to say at that meeting. That I'm falling apart again, or just keep a straight face and lie my way out of it. I can't decide. I'm tired of all the lies, I'm tired of everything. But I can't just say that I'm tired of living without expecting an intense reaction.

I don't want people to know, cause it's still possible that this could blow over, fade, pass. That maybe I'll go back to school tomorrow and get back to my social life and everything will be fine again. Maybe I'm not as close to the edge as I think I am.

That maybe as much as one more day of no word from K could make me fall, or I'll get back on track with getting better again and this was nothing more than just a bad weekend. I can't tell the difference anymore.

Although, right in this moment, I can't help but overthinking. I've thought back at my childhood, how things just generally were. I get glimpses, only glimpses and fragments of memories. I don't hold on to them, they are simply there.

And nothing can calm me down, at the same time as nothing can shake me. I'm awfully stressed but peaceful at the same time. Slowly and steadily accepting my cruel fate. But I have to turn 27, I can't die this year, and I just know that if I tried a 16th suicide attempt now it would just be another failed attempt. I don't want that.

I'm almost 26 years old and I breathe shallowed for I do no longer hold on to my life. It may come or it may go, I don't care. I've been through too much since I turned 25 and the higher the number, the less alive I feel. I've been lingering like a ghost between worlds for some time now, close to 3 years since I moved here. I just fade, a little more each day.