I don’t think I can recover. Not this time. Not anymore. I think I’m going to lose a lot of things I have that I should be grateful for, but my deteriorating self will make me loose it all. As embarrassed as I feel about ranting in front of everybody about what I go through every single day; I deserve to feel pity for myself, about my situation. I’ve been strong for far too long and I want to be weak at this moment, I need to be this way so I will defend my right to heal at my own pace. I need to cry and whine because that is the only outlet I have right now.
Every single time I looked out the window in my room from the 3rd floor of the townhouse I lived in, sitting on my bed, all I could think of was jumping out of it or somehow dying. Every single time. I couldn’t sleep. I watched him sleep beside me and so many times I felt the urge to run away, go drown in the lake near our house late at night or just jump out that window. I used to look out that window for hours when he was not home.
Half the night,
I stayed up,
wishing for something to happen,
something so sleek,
no one could figure what happened,
so that I don’t have to do it myself.
There have been times I stood too close to the light rail or went too far out on the edge of the lake. Just wishing for the wind to push me to my death. It never happened. But then again, I think of all the people who need me, people who are yet to be proved wrong. people who I might set an example for and I stop, I stop these urges and I don’t let them take over my brain for another night.
That’s all folks!