Did not Kill Self!

Today's entry : Did not kill self.

My therapist said to write something each day I am grateful for.

Today's entry : Did not kill self.

It's 8 am. I know it even before I turn to my side and glance up at the wall clock. I sit up. 8 o'clock. Damn it. About two weeks ago I was able to make it to an impressive 9 am. Now my body is betraying me. Because, if I am awake, why do I feel so heavy? Like a sack of potatoes? Why do my eyes sting if truly, I have had enough rest? I dare not attempt to go back to sleep; lying in bed awake is more tortuous than walking around. So I get up. Everybody else is in bed. I like the silence of the mornings. I feel least murderous in the morning. I have to take advantage of that.

I pick up my phone, open the Nike training app. Now, that is a very beautiful app. It makes you want to work out and stuff. I used to want to get abs. Then I did some workouts but my impatience would not allow me to keep working without seeing results. I also realized that I would have to lose weight to get them and I am not ready to do that. So now my goal is to just get some physical exercise. Yoga. But beginners level. So I start. 19 minutes should be enough, yeah? Stretch here, stretch again, stretch again. Why is the lady in the app moving so fast, damn! 5 minutes into it, I am exhausted. Physically and spiritually. I debate taking a shower. You see, I cannot afford to not shower everyday. Obviously for hygienic reasons, but also, if I do not shower I will lose my mind. The day I refuse to shower is the day I have given up on everything. So every day, immediately when I wake up, I have to shower, because I am not ready for that day.

But, is today the day? I think as I mechanically get my clothes. Get into the bathroom. Strip. Look at myself in the mirror. I see the girl in there and I know, I am screwed. 3, 2, 1, I countdown. Right on cue, she attacks me. She taunts me. She asks me tough questions and calls me names. Preying on my insecurities.

"Your arms."

"Yeah. what about them?"

"I don't like them."

"I know that, but…"

"You're supposed to be working out or something, that's what you said last week."

"Yeah but I am tired today."

"That's what you said yesterday!"

"I am tired."

"I don't like your waist."

"Yeah me too."

"And why do you have those nasty stretch marks?"

"Because my ass is growing."

She laughs.

"No not really. But your arms are."

I stare at her. I hate her so much I want to put my fist through the mirror.

Self loathing.

Today she came, and she brought all her children for me to babysit. Deep sigh.

I get into the shower. Turn on the water. It's warm. I want to stand in it all day. Just let it wash over me. Closest thing to affectionate human touch. But I have to lather and stuff. The sweeping, frothy motions with my soapy washcloth exhaust me. However, if I do not do it, I will have trouble oiling dirty skin later. No one wants that. So I resist the urge to sit in the bathtub naked all day, rinse off and step out. Dress up quickly before the girl in the mirror tells me what I already know. Sometimes I play music out loud in the shower to drown her out. Today, though, is a silent day. No shower music.

Breakfast is usually uneventful, peaceful even. The mechanical motions of sugaring my coffee and buttering my bread are somewhat comforting. Engaging enough to shut my brain up for a minute. Except today, I want to stuff my body with processed sugar, hoping to get a sugar rush and get some things done on that wave. The exact opposite of that happens. I thought I was low, I just didn't know it was possible for my system to crash that bad. Everyone is awake now. The house is noisy. I want to stuff a sock down each of their throats to shut them up. Wait, what?

I move to the most silent part of the house and scroll through my phone. In between scrolling through tweets, my mum texts me. "How many months has it been since we talked?" I smile. We talked the day before. I call her. I wonder whether my home has a smell, what aroma it will have when I walk into it after many months. I miss home so much. The twins start arguing in the middle of the video call. .Other days, I find it adorable. Today, it pisses me off. I can't play mediator today. I rush through the call, tight smiles and pleasantries, and I sigh with relief when the call is over. Almost immediately, guilt overwhelms me. How can I be relieved, when I don't know when I will go home? When will I see them again? Deep sigh.

Today's plan - occupy my mind with the reality of other people to distract myself from my own, also known as Netflix. I am watching "Orange is the New Black." It is great and stuff. Then comes the episode where this correctional officer rapes this girl. I stop breathing. The noise in my head is so much louder now. There is a tightening in my chest. Well of course, I have to breathe to release it, damn it! I breathe out slowly, very slowly, until there is no more air in my chest. Then I cautiously breathe in. Out. In, out. Press play. I watch another episode or two. There is bile in my throat. I see this man and I want to kill him. I watch him walk around living his normal life and I want to kill him. I hear him saying why he was right to do it, invalidating her feelings, and I want to kill him. My face is wet. My head hurts. Shit, the breathing thing is not working. Shit, shit, shit. I go to the bathroom. I don't pee. I don't wash my face to cool it. I sit on the floor, back against the door. The floor is cool. Some light shines through the blinds of the small window but it isn't blinding. I sit there with my many tears and haunting memories of the man who called me a whore. He thought I would like it. I told him I didn't. I think of how, sitting in that empty room, then I stop thinking about it. I think instead about the one with scratchy toenails and disgusting alcohol breath, the one who touched me in my sleep. I cry harder because it still fucking hurts. I remember in that ungodly hour of the night, dreaming that he was touching me in my sleep, running away but not really running in the style of nightmares, and waking up relieved that it was a dream - except it wasn't a freaking dream. He was really touching my nipples, and his thing was all hard against my ass. Middle of the night. I am tipsy but hyper-aware, yet I am exhausted and scared, so I just turn onto my tummy. But he does it again and again so I wake up and tell him to leave. The next day, that sicko texts me to ask me whether we can hang out today. I feel sick. I want to throw up. The phrase "sexual assault" is so heavy and bitter on my tongue. Still, I jump a little when someone knocks on my door. I bury the experience….only for it to resurface now, on the bathroom floor.

I get up and wash my face, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror. I want to sleep. It's 3 pm. But I can't be awake. I have to escape.I am craving alcohol. Vodka. I hate vodka. It burns. It tastes like madness and bitter suffering. It also makes you swoon real quick. I can't get any vodka though. I swallow ibuprofen because I feel my fucking cramps on the way. Not today Satan, But today please, grim reaper. Please. I climb into bed. Wrap the blanket around me. My pillow is wet. Fuck. I am not going to be able to sleep. I think about how at some point I will need to go back to school and I can't imagine that. Talking to people and taking tests and learning stuff. Sitting through the anxiety of making friends and getting good grades. I try to imagine holding on for the future. I see nothing but darkness there. When was the last good day? Why do I feel like crap every day when I wake up? Why do my dreams haunt me every night? What does a silent night look like? Ah, yes, I remember.

Sedation. That is what a silent night looks like.

I remember waking up all foggy after they sedated me to take out the baby. The sedation was optional; I have a really low pain tolerance. I remember waking up, heating pad on my tummy, pad between my legs. I recall throwing up, sipping canned apple juice then slipping away into a dreamless sleep. So peaceful. Idly I wonder what she would be like. I wonder whether I would hate her as much as I hate him. He ghosted. I would hate her so much, I decided. Besides, it would be a curse to bring her into a world where men touch women in their sleep, then say they were drunk last night, and they wouldn't have tried anything without consent. I wonder whether, if I die now, I will get to see her. Probably not because I'm going to hell or whatever. I chuckle. In the middle of my tears, I laugh, because I cannot recognize myself. I laugh, because I despise myself so much I don't know how to be alive. I don't know what I have to live for. I laugh because as wounded as I am, I am craving good sex, just to make me feel alive and high, like a fucking addict. I laugh because my sleep will not be restful. I laugh because I am so quick to smile with those around me, when my soul is fucking dead.

I laugh. A short, dry, lifeless sound muffled underneath the blankets.

There is a pointless little game called bubble shooter. You shoot at the bubbles in the same colour until they all pop. It is an idiotic game really. I play it every day, sometimes in the middle of my Netflix. That is the game I play when I can't sleep. Or when I can but I don't want to. I play it until my right arm hurts, then I exhaust my left arm too. I play this game for an hour, then I get up because I am not going to get some sleep. It's 6 pm. Almost dinnertime. I listen to some music. Here is the thing about my sad music, it can't be slow. I will listen to anything that has a consistent beat. Something that will break me but give me a chance to dance. That's the criteria for choosing to listen to "Bellyache" by Billie Eilish as opposed to "Keep Breathing" by I-forget-her-name. I feel like if my music is slow, I will die. My heart will stop beating. I have to keep performing CPR or else I will die. I can't die, even though I want to. Because I am a coward. I am afraid of the pain. Besides, I still have student debts and shit. Can't riddle my family with those. Gottta finish that. Also pick up a girl at a bar. And visit the beach at least 6 more times.

It's 9 pm. I scroll through my emails, another daily habit. Mostly emails from my school.

"Please fill out this survey regarding…"

"During this difficult times…"

"We hope this finds you well…"

"Spending this time with your family…"

"We understand these are tough times…"

Nothing important. I put my phone away. I have to sleep now because a.) I will wake up early and pissed tomorrow so I might as well sleep early, and b.) my roommate snores so I have to sleep before her or I will kill the poor girl. Not tonight. Also, couple of people higher on that hit list. But that is a story for tomorrow.

My therapist said to write something each day in my journal I was grateful for or something.

Today's entry: Did not kill self.


Add Comment

Comment added, awaiting admin approval.

About ONs

We are a family of young, curious, ambitious artists eager to articulate pertinent issues across all topics. Join us as we tell you stories that make a difference.