You Obliterated Me. You Damn Well Messed Me Up. There Were Paragraphs And Pages Where I Had To Stop Because

You obliterated me. You damn well messed me up. There were paragraphs and pages where I had to stop because I was struggling to release the pressure that was crushing my chest. I had to reel myself and emerge from the story's depths so that I could breathe; to remind myself that my lungs are deflated and that they need to function properly and that I must stand up and shake off droplets of grief. To recover from the flurry of punches to the gut, to suck back the air that was knocked out of me. To stop the world from spinning as my eyes sped through thousands of words. To remind myself that I am still lucky, to remind myself that I am still safe, before I plunge into the novel's depths once again.

Then, to brace my body for the impact of shifting narratives (especially the few final ones), the remaining words that I knew would deliver the hardest blow.

Ang hirap mong basahin. Ilang beses ko kinailangan munang pakalmahin puso ko. I knew there was a right time to finally fish you out of my TBR pile. I knew that it must be when I am emotionally prepared and ready.

For those who haven't yet read "A Little Life" and are planning to, please know that it is a heavy book loaded with heavy issues that may trigger your mind to spiral. To call this novel dark and gloomy is an understatement. Prepare for the pain.

Yet, even after all that, I highly appreciated this reading experience. First time diving into prose that juggles themes of horrendous traumas and bright, complex friendships, of how they blend and clash and affect the fragile, broken self living in an often cruel age of anxiety.

Relapsed

I relapsed today. I was almost a week clean. I relapsed for a stupid peice of shit who doesn't give a fuck and can never understand me but I expect them to do so. I'm such an idiot. I keep getting myself hurt

Tags

depressed selfharm relapsed mentalhealth cuts cutting

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xxsadist0nexx

6 years ago

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xxsadist0nexx

4 years ago

My scars have been fading as well and their barely there at this point but if you really want to see them you can, this is exactly how I feel.

You can’t see them anymore, my scars, unless you really want to.

I have photos to prove that they were there.

And I have enough hatred for myself left to see them now.

They’re going to get clearer and clearer and I’m going to hate myself more and more and I don’t want people to put up with that.

But at the same time, I can’t bring myself to keep them faded.

Because they’re a part of me, now, forever. Battle scars.

Maybe, also, it’s a part of feeling valid. As if seeing them makes me entitled to the bad days that I occasionally have. The days of suffocating panic and the constant ‘scars, scars, scars, scars’ that runs through my head.

Well, look. I don’t have these days often, and they come with the reappearance of my scars in summertime.

So, really, I’m just silly.

I just want to love myself. Scars and all.

And I can’t just get rid of them. That wouldn’t be fair.

So what am I meant to do?

Ignoring them doesn’t work, and hiding them isn’t practical.

They’re starting to reappear, slowly. The sun has that effect.

I dislike it but why am I making no effort to fix it?

I think I covered that, but I do have the tendency to circle.

I want to cry and that is remarkably stupid but I do.

I do.

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