The Aftermath

It’s dark. Why does it always have to be dark? Will I ever be able to see the light?

It’s cold. Why is it always so cold? Can somebody please just hold me?

The voices won. Why do they always have to win? I’m so tired of losing. They just get so loud sometimes.

The voices. Oh those damn voices. They get what they want no matter what the consequences for me are. They don’t particularly care, to be honest. I’m typically left in a state of confusion and fear, left to wonder what kind of damage I did while I was gone. The damage is always extensive. I don’t know any other way to exist.

I woke up hungover, as per usual. My body was shaking, my throat was dry. My wrist throbbed, a familiar feeling for me. The smell of blood brings me back to reality, and the bandages on my arms remind me of what the other part of me did while I was away. Can I even blame it on a secret part of me? I don’t think it’s right, as it separates responsibility into different sectors of myself. At the end of the day, it’s all me. I can’t bother lying to myself anymore.

I don’t regret what I did. What I regret is my weakness. My need for people to be around me when I break. Nobody should have to bear witness to what I do. It’s unfair to ask those that care about me to suffer like I do. What can they do besides watch and hold my hand as I collapse? It’s awkward, it’s embarrassing, and it fills me with guilt. Guilt is the worst feeling. It’s what I try to drown, but I never succeed.

They say that’s progress. The counselor says that reaching out to resources is what keeps me alive. Maybe that’s why I’m so angry and guilty. Maybe I wanted it to finally be over, and my own mind stopped it. Maybe I’m a waste of resources. Maybe I use too many and am far too selfish with them. I wish my brain would pick a side. Do you want to be done, or do you want to keep trying? I can’t play both sides of the fence anymore. That’s why I call them the voices. It’s the voices that want me gone, but it’s me that wants to stay. I guess me just doesn’t know how to stay like others do. The louder the voices get, the more often I follow the commands.

If one thing is true, is that there is shame. Shame that I am a burden. Shame that I need so much help. Shame because I involve others in what should be my burden to bear, thus bringing them down to my level. They never asked for this. It’s not right, and it’s not fair. It can’t be like this forever…. right?


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