The Ultimate ReleaseSo if your reading this your probably wondering what could be so bad that someone would want to take the ultimate step and disappear from what we know as life. None of us knows if there is something better after our mortal bodies cease to exist. I guess I'm willing to take that chance, what could be worse then this , my world. Before I took my first breath my father showed me what he thought of me, by punching my mom intentionally in the stomach. He must have been psychic and known that I was a mistake, a burden, and useless. I can remember from about age 3 on. I lived in fear, walking on egg shells every moment of consciousness I never knew what was going to set my dad off. There were many things I did not know at that age, I was only 3 after all. However I did know what it was like to have to watch my mother beaten, bruises all over her body, hear her scream and plead for him to stop. I knew what it was like to cower in a corner as blows rained down on me, fists, kicks from his pointy toed, trademark boots that he always wore outside or inside. I knew what it felt like to have cold leather sting my naked flesh as my father seemed to take out every bit of anger and discontent he had within and unleash it on to my flesh. I knew what is was like to get sick in the night and be so scared because I made a mess and could not clean it up well enough and know that there would be hell to pay when it was discovered. I knew what it was like to be told over and over how bad and how weak and how much of I little girl I was for crying when he hit me and to be forced to eat raw hot chili peppers because it would make me tough and I needed to be tough, and the burning in my mouth was unbearable, but cry I could not, complain I dare not, for I knew, I knew all of what I just mentioned. And so it went on. This is just a glimpse of years of living like this. Even though its been so long I have muscle memory. I can feel the pain and anguish. Cold chills run up my spine, a warm wave floods through my body, hot and cold sweats, my breathing and pulse start to race. I can't handle these feelings. So I take the razor in my hand and I cut into my skin. Ahhhhh instant relief. Oh it hurts but it feels good. My mind is still racing thoughts of worthless drug addict, useless waste of skin, you'll never amount to anything, you deserve to suffer. At this thought I cut deeper, oh it hurts, I lick the blood running down my arms and wrist, I taste its familiar salty, earthy taste. I lay there in the dark , alone. I'm mad why did they have to walk in when I was choking on my vomit from an intentional drug overdose. They ruined my plans, my wishes to cease to exist. Why did the nurses rip the bag tied around my head. I'm laying in the psych ward under my blankets bag tied tight around my head, the oxygen supply slowly dwindling. But the nurses get there just as I'm slipping in and out from lack of oxygen, oh I was so close. I'm tired of fighting. I don't have the energy , drive, will, to go on. I started doing heroin and cocaine at 14 years old, at 17 I'm sleeping under a bridge physically hooked on heroin, mentally hooked on crack cocaine. I'm in and out of institutions jails, detox , treatment center's, psychiatric wards. Is this what my life is destined to be. I'm living the life of a drug addict, borderline personality disorder , psychosis, depression, post traumatic stress disorder. I'm tired of the methadone, citalopram, risperidone, clonazapam. Counselors, p psychiatrists, methadone doctors, community mental health teams . Anxiety,depression,paranoia. What's the point of living. I'I've already passed the point of no return. Sure you here the success stories, you control your thoughts. Bullshit. People are trying to control my thoughts, I.hear something tell me that person is against me. They are reading my mind. I can hear but I can't see. I give up. I'm done. Next time nobody will foil my plans. But there are people who want to help. Sure. My mind asks why would anybody care about me, just leave me alone. There's more to the story, why would they care about me. I'm useless . A burden, a walking mistake. Anyway now you see its not worth it, I'm sorry, call me weak,a coward, I don't know I'm just tired of fighting.
libra604 26-30, M 3 Responses 1 Feb 3, 2012