Here in the darkness I know myself

Picture // Tumblr

"I wanna stay in love with my sorrow, but I want to let it go..."

I'm terrified of dying. I start crying and panic if I think too much about it. Why is it then that I still want to die? The smallest thing can send me into a dark spiral that leads to one single thought; I have to die. There is no other option.

I want to experience the future. I want to turn 18, graduate high school, get a decent education in my chosen field, eventually move in with a partner... and at the same time, the future terrifies me. I can't do anything, I can't live up to anyone's expectations, and I'll never reach my goals. I'll never be able to function like I should in the adult world, and I'm too afraid of everything.

I want to stop self harming. I don't want even more scars that bring out people's bad sides when they see them - prejudice, stares, whispers, pointed fingers, obvious questions... I want to be able to cope in healthier ways, and I sometimes get scared when I realize what I've done to myself. Yet, I don't want to stop. I don't care about the scars, I just want my pain to be visible. Nothing is good enough, nothing is deep enough.

What I need the most is closeness. I just need to feel close to someone, and that someone can look past the facade and the walls I've built. That someone comes up to me and asks me "how are you really?". That someone holds me and takes care of me. That someone sees me. However, I can't deal with it. I usually don't mind talking about my problems, but once someone starts digging and close in on something very painful, I withdraw. I can't cope with having someone too close. They're gonna leave me anyway, and that pain is unbearable.

I'm divided into two parts. Two very contradictory parts. The sick me, and the healthy me.

Picture // Tumblr

The sick me doesn't want to recover. She doesn't want to get better, 'cause then she'll disappear. The sick me is being controlled by a monster that keeps pulling her down. Lucifer, the monster, thinks that she doesn't deserve to get better anyway. She's been tricked into liking everything that the depression and its friends bring along with them, all the while not being able to cope with how painful it is. But this is all she knows, and she's had it like this for so long. She's terrified of being abandoned and forgotten. To be sick allows her to be visible, and Lucifer keeps her ill. The sicker, the better. She wants scars and other visible signs, 'cause it isn't fair that her pain has to be only on the inside.

Then we have the healthy me. She's small, but she's there. She's whispering - desperately - that this is bad. She does her best to make the sick me understand that there are other things in this world and that she doesn't need to cling to Lucifer and the illness to be seen, but Lucifer drowns her out. She wants to show the sick me that there's hope; that things can change. That she'll recover and be able to live a good life. However, Lucifer won't allow it.

It's difficult. The sick part is the biggest one, and she doesn't want anything to do with the real world. It seems too difficult to take care of herself. There's so much responsibility, and the world is a huge and scary place. She's a small child trapped in a growing body. She can't do it on her own, and though the healthy me tried to prevent it, she let a monster take the control and lead the way.