Christmas is the worst time of the year for me. This one in particular marks my five year anniversary of.. survival? staying alive? I don't know what to call it, but five years ago I was at an all-time low; no hope, no future, just darkness, and on Christmas Eve, I was going to kill myself. I remember having Death Cab's Transatlanticism on repeat and looking at myself in the mirror, thinking fuckyoufuckthisyouareuglynoonewilleverwantyouthereisnopointtostayalivebecauseyouwillneveramounttoanythingandyouareuglyuglyfatfatuglyuglyfatuglyhopelessuglyuglyfatfatfat and I sank to the floor crying, clutching this jagged piece of glass I was going to use to slit my wrists, to escape this hell, to die. And then, I don't know. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe someone called my name, maybe I thought there was something else that I wanted to do before I died, maybe there was a spark of hope somewhere inside me. I'll never know. And now, five years later, I am in that same place. I've come to a crossroads, and I don't know which path to choose. I know you can never go back, and you will never have another chance, and it's better to try and lose than to never have tried at all. If you fall, pick yourself up again. Time heals all wounds (but not really.) Lose your hunger, and you lose your way. Stay true to yourself. Don't let anyone tell you what to do or think. Don't change for anyone. Don't depend on anyone. Give and you'll receive. (These are all clichés, but there is truth in them.) Trust yourself. Trust your dreams, and chase them, no matter where they might take you. These are the things I've learnt. And yet.
My stomach is full of whiskey, painkillers and sleeping pills. There are fresh cuts on my thighs. I am here, but not really. I am disconnected. (My mind is arguing the pros and cons of living and there is nothing I can do about it. I am constantly at war with myself.)
And should I still be alive come morning, I will probably delete this.
