Strenght as a Deathwish.

You’re such a strong person.

You have so much strength.
Strong
Strong
strong
stro…ng.

They say I’m strong, it’s meant to be a compliment yet it weighs me down, every letter in the word another straw on my back.
I’m strong so I can take on the world alone, I’m strong and can deal with it, hurt? Nah, I’m strong.
Trauma? It’s okay, you can push through it, you’re strong.
You’ve done it until now, you can keep going! After all you’ve done it alone, we’re here for you, to tell you how strong you are and they walk away, happy knowing they did their part, back to their simple life where hugs are regular, where sadness is helped, weakness is acceptable and even endearing, needing someone else, vunurability being something beautiful to their saviour, the same one that told me moments ago how strong I am and patted me on the back, telling me it was amazing.
Me smiling, knowing they meant well, but they were killing me inside.

I AM STRONG but I fall.
My knees give in and I fall to the floor, I slip on my own tears that fall silently behind sunglasses when I’m angry and confused.
Some days I don’t eat
I can’t sleep
I want to study but I can’t. My mind doesn’t work today and I’m here, on my own, being “strong”. Later I’ll be told I’m lazy for not studying.
My chest hurts from holding in all the pain and being unable to release it for fear of the words that will meet my pain.
“You’re such a strong person, you can do this.”
They’ll hug me, a hug that now feels pressured, I feel stifled and misunderstood.

Today I’m on my knees, my chest burning, my voice cracking, my head spinning.
If this is what strong is, I don’t want it anymore. I want to cry and people care, worry that I can’t get up, helping me up slowly so I don’t get dizzy because I am human.

I am human and yes, I’m strong, but I’m not indestructible.

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Take it away, this strenght that makes me so weak. A knight without armour, I fall to the floor, my soul on display in the obvious caos of my house, my sadness in the notes I write to myself on the fridge to remind me I’m alive. My eyes burn, my legs shake. All alone in somewhere I love to call home. I live alone, I like it that way, But I fight every day to not kill myself, alone, I reach out but the hands I seek feel they fulfilled their job, they told me I’m capable, I’m strong and they left.

I bleed inside, I taste blood from biting the inside of my mouth.
I take my medication, numb it please, I silently beg, take it away, just for a while.
Sometimes it’s so hard to remember why I’m taking the medication feeling so bad and having no beautiful highs, moments I felt invincible and pure happiness, that part of me now locked away, I hear her crying, I miss her.
I know my medication can’t make life perfect, I’m not stupid, but give me a reason. Give me a reason to keep doing this…
I can’t afford a phychologist anymore, can I even keep going?

Of course you can, they chorus, you’re strong!

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Murder she wrote.

I have come to consider the darkness to be a friend, this black dog that comes and goes, always leaving hair that clogs up my mind even when the creature is ausent, its own form of love letters, hidden in nooks and crevices.

It’s ironic as now I have adopted a black dog and she sheds a LOT of hair but she brings laughter and bruises to my life, headbutts made of love and overexcitement, it made me think about my other black dog, the one who pads silently beside me, inside me, everywhere, anywhere it can reach… I used to think it was only there to hurt me but I wonder now; is the black dog cursed too? 
I have created this creature in my mind, this animal that has grown and changed along side me, now a majestic wolfish dog, with shining eyes and paws so big they look goofy, as if he never grew into them… His eyes are sad, almost as if he tries to help with his presence but is cursed with only pain…
Even then, there are nights I hug him, accepting the fate, embracing his prickly fur, his breathing the only thing I can hold onto as his breathing is mine, he is me, we are one… Aren’t we? It’s all in my mind, this beautiful creature, the pain, the darkness… How can it only be in someones mind yet drive their whole life?
I read the other day something like how shocking it was that the brain named itself and not only did it do that but in every language.
When you stop to think about it, just for a second, stop reading and actually think about that. The brain named itself.
I wonder sometimes if my brain is mine or I belong to my brain and it enjoys torturing me. My psychologist is worried I separate things in my mind too much, he says all these people that scream at me, all these thoughts are mine. How can I hate myself so much? How can I be fighting myself? A war inside me, like a book, a thousand characters so detailed in every way, they are me.
I killed some, finally they are silent. I told him I got them to leave yet I still can’t get the bloodstains off the carpet floor of that room… The guilt looms and people still wonder what happened… We are better off, I mean of course, I am better off now, but the blood… It still smells like pennies and it won’t go away, no matter how many airfresheners I put in there. I even created a cleaning lady to help, she got tired in ten minutes and took a rest like I do with my house. It’s too messy in here, up here inside and out here around me… How can I be organised without knowing who I am..?
It’s like trying to get to know an onion, each layer looks the same but is different, they all make you cry though.
I’m unsure about myself, I used to know who I was, or pretended to be I guess…
Now I’m torn, happiness is infront of me and those people are shouting again, telling me to fuck it up before it disappears, it will, there’s no IF for these people, happy endings are myths, lies so they can hurt you more later after you believe it. They taunt me, it would be so easy to break this beautiful happiness I have infront of me, they lead me to the pieces, the flimsy parts I am working so hard to strengthen and they push at them with their tiny feet, swinging from my scaffolding, using it as a swing, their feet the wrecking ball.
I picture my partners face, his freckles and lines, how his eyes changed since we met, the beautiful sparkle that they now have, his smile contagious.
Happiness is so fragile.
They hand me the tools to destroy him every day, these people in my mind, sometimes I swear the black dog comes to my rescue, making me tired and sad when they want me to drink, to stray, to fight. I can see him biting their necks and the tools falling from their hands and me along with them, almost welcoming the black wave crashing over me.
I don’t know anymore what is me and what is my illness, what I decide and what’s decided for me.
Whoever is cheering for me up there, I love you.
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Smog.

Poison.

It can be found in many ways; man made, alive, in plants and animals, but humans aren’t considered to be on the list, a huge mistake in my opinion.

A friend of mine from my home island has been visiting and although his heart is warm and kind, he has a dark fog that trails behind him, seemingly seeping through him, reaching out to me, burning at the touch. He hugs me and sadness fills me. The beautiful island that we were raised on is killing him, like a dying species, if it does not fight and flee, good dies there, evil grows freely, like poison ivy, taking over, crawling, creeping into your mind and starving your personality, your kindness and darkening your soul, like a blue sky covered in heavy grey clouds.

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We talk, about the world, the past, the present, our memories, fears, plans, we have always had a beautiful connection, like fingertips touching and sparking in a movie, kindred souls, broken by life and rebuild by bravery and pure will.

Years pass by us but each visit is the same, until now.

We talk, slowly I hear myself… Who is this speaking?
This sarcasm, this disdain dripping from my words… Where has the beauty gone from my view?
I was being sucked back, the island pulling me into its dark embrace, feeding me pain from my past as if it were spoonfuls of sugar that turned to vinegar when touching my tongue.

We went to the cinema with a friend of mine and I noticed his glance, this wasn’t me. It snapped me back, the spoon dropping to the ground with a loud clunk.

I’m not there anymore, none of it matters anymore.
Why relive it? Why wake the beast so it can scratch me again?
Why re-open old scars?

I ripped up the note in my hand that I wrote in the hope of giving a paper cut to its receiver. I didn’t need that, how was it going to help me? The flitting moment of satisfaction that it would bring would evaporate and the beast would growl, demanding to be fed again and again….
Revenge is addictive and turns us into an ugly creature, no matter how beautiful we may look in a mirror.
I always live by two sayings I was told as a child:
Do not crouch down to the level of those that seek to hurt you.
& treat others the way you would like to be treated.
(Applied even when they are complete dicks, leaving loopholes to tease them and also kill them with kindness that will in turn show them a lesson.)

As I dropped the paper in the bin, its pieces fluttering and scattering,  weight lifted, I smiled, feeling like myself just a little bit more, a wonderful sensation, like cream to a burn, my body pulsed, forcing out the dark. I looked down, nearly convinced I was seeing the smog leave my pores, the darkness evaporating into the air…

As the night went on, we spoke of insecurities, questions left unanswered and for the first time in my life I realised, I didn’t need the answer to everything.
This was a huge revelation for someone that was capable of breaking herself into pieces just for the satisfaction of knowing something that she knew would kill a piece of her… The need to know stronger than the need to protect herself. I used to say that those who didn’t seek answers were just cowards that lived in the dark, I know realise that you aren’t ignorant for not seeking  every answer, you are sometimes smarter.
A soft breeze passed through me, filling me with peace and I knew, these questions were best left alone, like a snake in a box, best left undisturbed, for no good would come from opening it as you wouldn’t be able to turn the snake into a rabbit, no matter how much you wanted to, and that snake would bite. Maybe it wouldn’t, but, why risk that when you don’t need to? Why hurt yourself when there are already so many others that will do that to you..?

Don’t add to the pain the world inflicts, put armour on for cthulhus sake! Don’t stab yourself. WE ARE NOT OUR OWN ENEMIES and it’s so damn hard to see that, to say that when the world makes it their mission to hate ourselves, to have a neverending need to be better, prettier, stronger, more, more more…The pressure cutting into us and we learn to except the pain, making it natural to self inflict.

No.

Just no.

We are our own saviours, our own heroes, our bodies, our minds, they are our best weapons, our best defense, our best friend. Our biggest acheivement. Love yourself, in small ways as the first step, my first step was throwing the spoon down instead of swallowing self made poison. A template handed out to everyone by society, personalised by every type of pain inflicted by others.

I am choosing myself, over everything. Drop the bottle, let it shatter.

Look at the past, don’t be afraid, it made you who you are.

I will remember the beautiful, I will tell those stories, the bad can stay there, slowly deteriorating like cliffs with the soft but constant caress of the waves.

I shall make waves, made of tears of pain and laughter, a beautiful mixture that will slowly wash away the hate, close scars, free me.

The most important part is that I’ve started, I took that step, even if I fall backwards, my print is there, showing me it’s possible. I can be happy.

I am Blue, I am free of the smog and I’m on my way.

 

(Perfectly fitting photo by: https://www.redbubble.com/people/melissa-smith)