Too Late

Life as I know it, is not really life at all. It's just a whole lot of despair, pain and loneliness. I'm not excited or happy or even remotely peaceful. I'm just a mangled, chaotic mess.

When the sun rises in the morning I have no desire to rise with it. I have no desire to face the day. I don't want it. I don't want to mix with people, associate with them. I don't hate them, I just don't want to be apart of it. I want to sit at home, sleep and do nothing.

I know there are people in the world who are worse off than be, but I can't help but feel like I've been hard done by. I have a mental illness. Even when things are good, I can't help but pick out the bad. It's all bad for me, that's how I perceive things. I literally need someone to point out the good for me because I don't see it. How screwed up is that? I feel all confused and lost, like its all pointless and totally meaningless. I'm deeply unhappy, but content pretending. Pretending means people don't ask questions, they don't probe, I don't have to explain anything.

Of course people know, but they don't ask unless my behaviour warrants it. But when my behaviour warrants it, I never want to talk. When I'm cutting myself, I'm not seeking therapy, just a temporary outlet. When I'm crying, it's too much and something had to give. I need space, time to regroup, overhaul my armour, work out the chinks. When I'm angry, I've had enough.

So when do I talk? I don't. I want help, but I'm scared. Even if you do fix what's going on mentally, I'm still a physical train wreck. And with all that pain constantly exhibiting its prowess, how can I even begin to heal my mental state? They're hand in hand. I can't remember a time where they haven't been there, showing who's boss.

Am I a waste of time? I'm beginning to think so. The people who truly know me only delay the inevitable. They can't save me. My solace is the horses, but here I am sitting in school instead. They can't save me. I'm too far gone. No medication in this world will bring me back.

Too mangled.

Too scarred.

Too ugly.

Too lost.

Too confused.

Too mangled.

Too much.

I'd sit here and be suicidal, but I'm too scared to do it. I just know that the person I was is gone. Now I don't know me. Just my feelings. I am so intimate with my feelings.

Life is not a wonderful thing.

- CG