It’s Vile

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It’s vile, this feeling I have inside. It’s vile. I can feel the vomit rising through my body. I feel the fear I have pushed down for years and I feel the anger that burns inside of me.

When I was born did my mother feel this wretch of pain knowing that because I was born female I would live a fearful life? Every day I must wake knowing that I will never be seen as a person. I am seen as an object to control.

They whisper in your ear be good, don’t act this way, be watchful. You never know what’s coming around the corner and you don’t know what their intentions are. Will they allow you one more day or is today your last?

For the month of August, the supposed Women’s Month, I have heard countless stories of women and children being raped and/or killed. I’ve heard stories of young girls, girls barely able to comprehend what’s about to happen to them, being stolen from places that we all thought was safe. You may think “Oh that’s nothing new.”

That’s. Nothing. New.

Is that really a statement that should be so casual? Is it such a common thing that we can look at it and say, “Well it’s unfortunate but these things happen…” Where? When did we start normalizing this aggression aimed at women and children? Aimed at anyone for that matter? Why are we still crying out for justice and understanding?

How long will I have to be meat? How long will I have to walk like a man in the street just so that I get over looked? How long will I have to continuously look over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed? How long will I have my hand in thick jackets clutching my knife and how long will I have to create potential scenarios in my head where I have to fight off an anonymous attacker?

Why do I have to heighten my senses and always be alert? Why do I listen for any signs of the slightest struggle? Why when I say no is it not enough. Why do I have to say “I have a boyfriend” before you’ll consider leaving me alone? Why do I have to entertain your greeting and conversation? What about me says I’m interested? Why do I have to live in fear?

This isn’t normal. This isn’t just something I need to learn to live with just because it happens everywhere. Stop telling me that I shouldn’t live in fear because that’s not living. I’m not living now. I have to take 100 precautionary steps before leaving the front door and another for every step I take there after. No you don’t see it because it’s so thoroughly ingrained into my being that it’s become part of who I am. Do you understand what it’s like to have to keep someone happy just in case they lose their temper and hurt you? Do you understand going to people who you thought would help and protect you only to tell you, “We can’t do anything here, you need to go elsewhere.”

This is not normal.

Fear is a powerful thing, it comes out in anger and masks the real pain that’s been hiding for so long. What do you do when your cry for help is ignored? What do you do when every day, with every story more and more of your hope for a better life gets chipped away? Once your hope gets chipped away you start looking for an escape. It doesn’t really matter what form of escape it is, fear will make you desperate. Fear will either take your life or make you take another and that is not normal.

A cut of the Knife

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So a few months ago while I sat at my desk alone in a flat I shared, a thought crossed my mind. I looked at my box cutters laying on the side of my desk and then looked at my wrists.

“Cut them. Cut them and let’s see how long it take for someone to show up. It will be quick and probably painful but you don’t mind the pain. Do it. Cut your wrists.“

It took me a few seconds to realize that the voice I was hearing was my own. I was coaxing myself to an attempt at suicide. ME. I was the one not only telling myself to kill myself but also I was telling myself that no one cared enough about me that finding me the next morning drenched in my own blood would make them feel anything. I never realized that my mind was slipping and that the stress I had been pushing back was now at the front counter waiting to be served.

No one came home that night and if I had gone through with it I would have most likely sat there until the next afternoon.

Looking back at that moment scares me. What happens the next time that thought comes back and takes another swing at me. Why do I feel like this. Why do I feel like I’m some forsaken lamb stuck in the middle of an enclosing pit. What happens when the next time this happens I can’t think of reason to argue against all of this? Why do these tears hurt so much when they’re supposed to be a release?

The cycle

I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever stop hating myself. Maybe hate isn’t the right word. I think the more appropriate word to use would be hurting.

When ever I find a piece of sanity and peace I always end up going back to everything that causes me stress and discomfort. It’s like comfort food. It’s never something healthy that’s low sugar/salt it’s always the greasiest, fattiest most sugary food you can find because some how dirty food makes you feel good about yourself.

Dirty food makes you feel good about yourself. I should make a sticker and fill my wall with some of the analogies that fall out of my head/mouth.

I think I’m too lazy and I procrastinate on everything I do so I never get to stay in the good places I find. I some how always convince myself that if I go back to the bad things that give me anxiety it won’t be as bad as before. Surprise it’s worse, good job Sour Rambles you played yourself (again). I’m the only one who can stop this cycle and I’m probably just too lazy to do it.

Honestly it’s moments like this that offing myself doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Although it does seem like a lot of work and I would be that person that would want all my thoughts out so when I’m gone the people around me can get some perspective to my state of mind. Hmmm…. For now it’s on the back burner.

There’s so many… words? No… Hmm I can’t think straight right now.

I’m at a loss and I just want everything to end.

Why does my heart feel so heavy?

It burns.

It’s burning inside of me. I can feel the burning liquid pushing its way up my throat and it’s disgusting. All of it is so disgusting I want to purge it from my system, but it won’t leave It’s just sitting there, why? Just get out and leave me be! Why do you continue to keep me prison to your rage? You make me feel weak and I hate it. I wish you would just cease to exist. Why won’t you die? Leave me, just leave.

No matter how many times I push you down you continue to force your way back to the surface and I hate that you do that. I’m so frustrated and angry all the time. Every waking moment there’s nothing but rage and all manner of distorted feelings flowing inside my head. I hate it! I wish I could rip you from my body and make you suffer as much as you’ve made me suffer, as you’ve made so many people suffer. I want to slip my fingers around your filthy throat and watch the life slip from your eyes. I want to hack you to pieces and set your chunks a light and watch you burn away. I will ensure every moment is slow, savoured and extremely painful. Every day I live with this rage, this pain, what more is there left to give? You’ll never leave me, only death will separate us and maybe not even then.

Can you just imagine… Death separates us from all manner of things, life, marriage, friendship but wouldn’t it be so funny if death let you slip in with me? I would much rather lose every appendage on my body one by one with each loss more painful then the next then let you continue to live in me in death.

Occasionally, I’ll have these moments, moments that make me feel weak and disgusted in myself. I hate feeling like I’m losing control over myself. I should be the one thing I can control in a world that’s filled with uncontrollable nonsense. I should be able to control when I want to let loose and when I need to be firm etc, however I always find myself here in this place losing faith in everything I built up for myself. Every time I think that I’m getting somewhere I get shot back to the reality that I don’t want to live in. I want to leave this place and leave all of it behind. Everything that holds me in this space I want to leave behind.

Growing up I never fully understood why villains behaved the way they did but as you get older you start to understand, and you start to relate and that just makes me feel so immensely empty inside. What more do I hold onto? Where do I place my faith when everything out there asks for compensation and I can’t even rely on myself to be steady and sure? My space is violated, I try to scrub away the filth and I try, and try, and yet the more I clean away the more this muck creeps up around me. Are you trying to consume me? Will you be satisfied then? How long before I get to live my Life the way I want to live it? When do I get to stop looking over my shoulder and just live? Maybe I’m not meant to live a life like that. Maybe I’m just meant to be another statistic and break my mothers’ heart one more time.

It feels like it would be so easy but why would I give you the satisfaction? You don’t deserve me.

Happiness

Two hands facing each other creating a heart shape. — Photo by Jasmine Wallace Carter from Pexels

I sometimes wonder if anyone has ever had these lonely moments where they question whether they deserve their happiness and if it’s okay to be “proud” of your happiness. I’ve questioned myself countless times, wondering if it’s okay for me to be happy.

Two years ago I found someone who I thought was just going to be a fleeting moment in my existence. He was kind to me during a time where most people would rather pull away. I wouldn’t blame them if they felt they had to pull away, looking back I was a real mess (in some ways I still am). I had found a new kind of happiness that I felt ashamed to have. I didn’t believe that I deserved to be happy. In my mind I was supposed to be miserable, I was supposed to be in mourning, after all I had just died so there wasn’t really any reason for me to be happy.

I think when we die on the inside that we forget that there’s still the outer shell that has desires and needs. It’s not as apparent when we simple grow out of our old selves, that’s just nature taking it’s designed course. Sometimes we don’t see it right away but if we look back we can say with confidence that we are no longer the same people we used to be. We grow out of clothing and the things we used to receive joy from and all of it seems so normal. When we die it’s a completely different story though. In my experience it’s like having two giant hands take hold of either side of yourself, they count to three and pull you apart at one and a half. It seems like something that should be painful but it happens so suddenly that all you’re left with is the numbness.

In a place that dark you don’t really expect to feel things like relief or happiness. You’re supposed to be hurting and hopefully picking up your parts so you can begin healing. Your mind just wants to stop you from feeling anything so you throw away your lingering thoughts of self preservation and you just indulge in anything and everything that finds itself in front of you. Amidst this cloud of poor judgement I found something I wanted more then just the pain I was inflicting on my body. I wanted to be happy but it felt so wrong to want that. It felt wrong to want to be happy and it felt worse experiencing it. It was as if I was committing the greatest sin imaginable and I couldn’t stop myself from doing so.

I’ve come a long way since those 2 years ago but the feeling of being unworthy of this happiness still lingers. The days between how often I question myself seem to have spread further apart and honestly I don’t know if I should be grateful or fearful. Only time will tell how far these feelings will go but I Love my Happiness and I won’t feel bad about that.

My Burden

So where do I start…

Again I find myself at a loss for words trying to wrap my mind around everything I feel. Honestly half of the time it all feels like it’s in my head and maybe if I stop talking about it or acknowledging it maybe it will stop existing but even that feels like it would be too good to be true.

Everything I hear inside of my head seems like just a whisper so I easily ignore it. It’s hard to understand and to explain I just don’t know where to start. I’m hurting inside and I feel like I’m hurting myself and those who come into contact with me. I find myself once again longing for the world that I can call upon in my head where everyone knows me and they feel comfort in my presence. They long for me to be near them and they bring me as much peace as I bring them. In this world I am strong and powerful, I have powers and am in control of myself and my destiny. I get to explore a different kind of world where I’m not hindered by these noises I hear inside my mind. In this world I am free.

What am I doing here? I am so lost. Everyday feels like one more day i spend wasting people’s energy and honestly why should they spend any of it on me? Who am I, other than an out of shape obstacle in everyone’s way. In many ways I am simply a punching bag waiting for the day I break and need to be replaced. Yes though I’ll be patched together with duct tape I won’t ever be truly whole and eventually the tape isn’t going to work and I’ll just crumble apart. I think the worst part about that whole experience is that I’ll most likely just be expected to “pull myself together” and continue my existence as a broken down punching bag. Every time I have a break down I tell myself unknowingly to pull myself together because not only am I the cause of my destruction I am also the healer of my own flawed being. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to be upset for as long as I want because that’s inconvenient and no one wants to deal with someone who is like that. It’s too draining to be that way. It only causes problems for everyone out there who is just trying to get through everyday of their own life.

I am a burden. So many times I’ve heard those words in my head. I burden my friends with my mood swings and my behaviour. I burden them with my problems when they have the time to listen. I expect them to listen but I know deep down they don’t have to but I have to even though half of the time I don’t want to and I know I don’t need to but I do it anyways. I burden them with my happiness during times where they are feeling sorrow. I burden them with my thoughts and opinions that are meaningless. I burden my family with my lack of drive and commitment. I’m not passionate enough and I strive for nothingness so I am a failure. I burden my family with my being here, constantly in need and being the black sheep. I burden them with my ideals and my fears. I burden them with my inabilities and my lack of common interest. I burden my mother with my lively hood. I burden so many people yet I’m too afraid to stop being that burden. What would life be without me I often wonder, it always seems a lot more coherent without me in the picture. My mother can focus on her son and husband because there is nothing keeping her from it. My family can continue to boast about their successful children without having to pause and weigh up which nice words they’re going to use to spare my feelings. I see the blunder I am and everything inside me wants to strive to be better but nothing responds the way it’s supposed to. My words and actions do not meet their mark and I’m constantly being the let down my mind has convinced me I am. What is wrong with me?

Where does my mind lie in all this mess and why does it stay there?