Darkness bind me
I was lying on my bed in my hut, staring out the wide open windows at the ocean waves that rippled across the surface of the water, the sunlight that was streaming into the room accompanied by a moisture laden sea breeze. Light glinted off of the dagger I was toying with, making odd reflections on the ceiling of my room as my fingers twirled it.
A heavy sigh left me as I rolled onto my side to give myself a better view of the ocean, the thin sheet covering the bed coming loose as I moved into a more comfortable position, tucking my knees up close to my chest as I stared at the waters. Staring and yet unseeing.
Saying that I had had a bad day was a farce. I had had a horrible day. So horrible that the second I had stepped into my apartment in Reality, I had come here, to the 'Line Between Reality and Fantasy', and sought solace in the one place that almost made me feel at peace. Almost. But not quite. Peace was something that was beyond my reach now. I had been infected by my pain and depressions. Infected by the harsh reality of life, of the struggle and of the uncaring coldness of it all. Peace was but a fairy-tale now. Something that was still spoken of, but never achieved.
Horrible day. Horrible month. I wondered what I had done to deserve this kind of pain, this kind of torture. Wasn't it bad enough that I was messed up before hand? Wasn't it enough that I hated all that I was? Now I had to endure levels of stress that made me throw up at least once a day? Pain so bad that it was all I could do not to break out in tears, and even then, sometimes it was too much and I ended up sobbing quietly at my desk at work, huddled in the prison of my cubicle like a wounded animal, cringing in fear of what would come next.
The familiar agony inside me twisted, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, obscuring my view of the ocean. My stress levels were at the max, my depression hitting a dangerous level that even my anti-depression medication couldn't fight. Actually, it had been at the dangerous level for the past week, now it was reaching the point of no return.
I was tired. Tired of being put down at work, of being treated like I was an idiot or a two year old, tired of having to smile into the face of my supervisor as she tore at the little self-esteem that I had. Tired of working my ass off only to be shot down again and ground into the dirt. Tired of working and striving and thinking that this time, this time will be better, only to be disappointed yet again and again and again. I was tired of the cruelty, the pain, the emptiness inside me. Tired of it all. So very tired.
My gaze fell on the dagger as I found myself pressing the tip of it against the inside of my left wrist. I knew the proper way to do this too. Slice upwards, from wrist to elbow. Deep and sharp and dark and painful and blessed release. No more pain, no more tears, no more anything. Just darkness and eternal sleep. Freedom.
I was so tired of hurting, of pretending that everything was alright when it wasn't. Tired of pretending that I had life inside me when all I felt was an echoing emptiness. Cold and dark. The charades that I had to do at work were draining me. Fake smiles to hide the tears, fake laughter to hide the pain. Fake life to hide the death.
Everything inside me had died long ago. All that was left was an empty shell. And this shell wanted release. Craved it. Needed it. Salvation....
The point bit into my skin, a thin line of blood trickling down around my wrist to drip onto the sheets. I stared at it in muted fascination, surprised that the sharp silver blade that was ever so slowly cutting deeper and higher didn't bring any pain. It felt cool, comforting, like rain on a hot summer's day.
I suppose that I would have actually gone through with it had hands not grabbed mine, wrestling the knife from my fingers and throwing it across the room.
My freedom skittered across the floor and lodged itself under a bookshelf, so far from my reach, like the peace that people believed in, that I moaned in despair.
Those hands grasped my shoulders, hauling me off the bed and onto my feet, fingers gripping my arms tightly as I was shaken, my gaze mostly unfocused, staring over at the knife that was so far away.
My salvation had been taken from me. Cast aside as easily as my happiness had been. The emptiness inside me grew, and I felt tears sting my eyes as whoever was shaking me yelled to someone else outside my hut. I could still feel the blood trickling down my wrist, tickling my palm before the red beads of life dripped from my slack fingers. I knew the cut wasn't enough to kill me. My soul was a survivor. It would fight for the life that I hated. Fight for an existence that only brought me pain.
Death is a release, not a punishment. I wish people could understand that. I wanted release. I craved it, needed it. But these voices and hands and cries wouldn't let me go.
My mind retreated, curling up on itself, hiding from the outside world that brought so much torment, and my body went limp in response, my tear filled gaze still glued to my dagger as someone's arms wrapped around me, voices rising in numbers and in panic. Couldn't they see that all I wanted was freedom? Couldn't they see that all I wanted to do was be happy?
My Muses never seemed to understand. I had to hide from them too. Fake smiles and fake laughter. Fake interest in life to hide the yearning for death. Pen scratching on paper, forcing myself to write about happiness instead of the sorrow that clenched itself around my heart, dark tendrils infecting the light, grey coldness enveloping me in numb fog.
They had brought me back once before. I had let them bring me back, lured by their tears and cries and touches. But the promise of friendship and shoulders to cry on wasn't enough anymore. What was the point if the pain always remained? It never went away. Sometimes it hid deep inside me, making me think that things would be better, and then it would come back thrice as strong as before. A battering ram that tore my defences apart like kindling, leaving me huddled and crying in the dark.
Talking didn't help. Medication didn't help. Listening to people retell their stories about their own experiences with depression only made things worse, another time to feign interest while their babblings only made me realise how bad my hurts were. Constant questions of 'are you alright' always giving me a sharp reminder that, 'no I'm far from alright'. I hurt and I cry and I scream and scream and scream until all I have are my tears and whimpers and nothing makes it go away.
What else is there except defeat? Accept the darkness that calls to the emptiness inside me and letting it take me away from here. Let it have my dead spirit and dead hopes and dead dreams, the shattered remains of a woman that once believed that there was always a light in life, a hope to cling to, a love, a touch, a dream to hold. That woman was gone, withered away by the harsh pain that grated over every nerve and thought and emotion. Drowned in the sorrow and coldness and useless struggle of life. Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming.
Only I remained. Harsh and broken and crying and empty. Tears for a part of me that died, crushed to death by a weight that she couldn't carry, but had been forced to. She had died, and left me behind, alone and lost and screaming.
Tears not of my own origin fell on my face, and I blinked through my own curtain of tears to blankly stare up at my Muses, vaguely hearing them begging me not to leave them, calling out to me to come back. I didn't want to go back. I didn't want to and yet I had to. My life was pain. Both my own and others. No matter what I did, it was always wrong. Life brought myself pain, death would give me the pain of knowing that I had harmed the only ones that gave a damn. The only ones I cared about.
Stalemate.
I sighed and silenced my own internal wail of agony, letting it continue to scream in torture in internal silence as I let my Muses draw me back away from the brink, their voices and cries constantly reminding me about my parents, my friends, and their love for me.
So I live. Not for myself, because I died a long time ago. No, I live only for the sake of others. I pretend, only for them. I smile, I laugh, I play, I sing, I act as if everything's alright. While inside, I scream and cry and wail and wish for release and death and darkness.
I live for them. For my parents and my friends.
And when they leave me....
I'll let the darkness bind me.
Fin