When will there ever be peace in my heart?
When will I let go of despair, when will I find it unattractive?
You said once I was a pain junkie. I wonder if it’s a simple as that.
I am a dark soul. I think I’ve seen and done too much, and not enough of the right things.
Will you teach me how to embrace the light? Will you teach me not to be afraid of the dark?

it is difficult to let go of an addiction, particularly when it is sprung from self destruction, when the addiction is to self destruct, to self mutilate. a denial of happiness. i tell her in the dark, i need to tell you this, i need to tell you that you are real, the only ever real thing i have ever had.

i scramble in the dark, i make myself up. every instance, another me, another entanglement, something else i cannot sustain. i scramble my brains over a cold skillet, nothing cooks. nothing even simmers. i grow stale. i am lost, i make myself up, ten fold, twenty fold. the need to disappear, overwhelming. to not be, to erase myself, to obliterate. not out of malice, not to destroy, to create anew. blank slate, dig up even the foundation. there is no foundation, only dirt. it’s all been built upon dirt, mud, shaky ground. i cannot sustain, i scramble.
i have never been reached, i have yet to be touched by another person. i have yet to be moved. i am always looking for a way out. i am always looking to not be.

There is no reset button, there is no way to go back in time and undo the damage before it even began. I do not know what to do, and if I delve into it too deeply, I feel as if I might go mad. But I cannot. There are children, there are bills, there are frail and fragile human beings involved that I am afraid to reach out to. The only option is to disconnect. The only option is to stop.

I have gone from one day to the next, not stopping. A certain kind of restlessness, an inability to let go. No panic, no racing thoughts, no irritation, just no need for sleep. I tried everything, upstairs downstairs, somewhere in the middle; but nothing. The effect however was soothing: I was kind to her, I was kind to the children, I was accepting of disappointment, not resigned, accepting. And there was value in that.

I look back on the last couple of months and I am confused as ever. Did I really say these things, did I actually do them? Who am I, over and over. Every stance I take, every utterance feels contrived and belonging to someone else. Nothing quite fits. And I feel a certain kind of resignation, that this is it, I have crumbled and there is nothing even spectacular about it.

he tells me he is moved to tears by my suffering. he tells me i look like four of my friends have died sitting in the waiting room.
he tells me to think about antidepressants. i say, no.
she tells me i am destroying her life. she tells me that all this talk about refinancing is about making it easier to get away.
she tells me why wouldn’t you at least try them. i say, no
but i am tired, and i am tired of trying to explain. i am tired of fighting and it’s taken its toll.
i give up, i am tired of being me. maybe this is the disappearing i’ve always longed for. maybe this is the way to be gone for good and for the good of everyone else.

Last night, I ask her what she was thinking. She replied, “this is the last time I will help decorate your parent’s christmas tree. This is the last time I will wish your mother a happy birthday.”

And we left soon after that and I wept and she wept and our daughter pointed out to us christmas lights and decorated storefronts and she muttered, “yes, we see them.”

And I choked and held onto the steering wheel and covered my mouth and wiped my tears and barely got us home.

The other day the therapist was really making it a point about how I wasn’t contemptible, using my thoughts and feelings as examples, and the next day, when I was pretty much determined to blow the session, he said to me, “u know, I’ve been thinking of another word to describe how u are feeling that isn’t broken or damaged.”
“Lost”, he says, “You are lost.”
Although he is right, it’s nothing new. And just like someone lost in the woods or a city, they try one direction for a few steps or even miles, then head back and start again, or abruptly pitch off into another angle. They end up in circles, grope for what’s familiar or, in turn, embrace desperately something new. But in the end, lost is lost, and I have no direction to follow, I have no guide, no one to rest on, to carry any of this for me. And I am tired. I am tired of being this way, of being this flawed, of beating myself up and feeling much too much to the point where I am defeated and numb. I am tired. I am sick of the sight of me, I am tired of the stench.

after every utterance, you see a contemptable person would be like this or that but not like you. and i get it, he’s trying to alleviate the guilt, the “intense” guilt and regret i feel, that i feel intensely, and he wonders aloud if the running i do, where i tap into it, this fucking sea of sadness, if i’m also literally running away, and i say no, i say it in my heart, i say no, i have never run away, i have always walked away or turned away, after all these years i have found myself having gone nowhere, i have always been right where i started and the bones have calcified, all these years and i haven’t taken any steps towards anything at all.