ein Geschenk - nach all den Qualen.
Dienstag
And like a cat, I have nine times to die.
Meine Welt bricht zusammen, zerfällt. Es gibt keine zusammenhaltende Kraft mehr, nur nackte Angst, und den Drang nach Selbstzerstörung, Ausrottung. Wie eine Katze kann oder darf ich neun Mal sterben, darf neun Leben verschwenden, an neun Leben scheitern. Ich habe aufgehört, mitzuzählen, aber viele dürften nicht mehr übrig sein. Ich bin die Leere, hinter meinen Augen fühle ich eine gefühllose, taube, betäubte Höhle, ein Loch der Hölle. Ich habe Angst. Und dennoch bin ich bereit, für das Nichts. Ich bin ausgelöscht. Ich habe nie geschrieben, nie gelitten, nie gelebt. Alles ist kalt. Wer bin ich, wo will ich hin, was ist meine Aufgabe - all das sind lächerlich einfache Fragen, die nur ich beantworten kann, leider. Denn bis an mein Ende kenne ich die Antworten nicht. Es werden ewig unbeantwortete Fragen meines Lebens bleiben. Ich sehne mich nach einem Ausweg aus dieser Existenz, ein Weg in die Freiheit. Ein edler Abgang aus diesem jämmerlichen, von versagen geprägten Leben. Ich bin schwach, müde, erschöpft. In Rebellion gegen das schlagende Ding, das mich am Leben hält. Doch irgendwann wird es auch einsehen müssen, dass alles einmal ein Ende hat. Der Tod muss etwas so wunderschönes sein, kein Gestern, kein Morgen. Keine Sorgen über Perfektion, kein Gedanke an den Alltag. Nur noch Stille. Die Zeit vergessen, dem Schmerz des Lebens vergeben, Frieden mit mir selbst schließen. Es klingt für mich nach der lang erstrebten, niemals erreichten Perfektion in Vollendung. Kein Leid, nur die Ruhe der braunen Erde und des wehenden Grases. Ich weiß genau, was ich will. Und dennoch darf mich niemand fragen, was ich bin. Denn das konnte ich niemals rausfinden, es hinterlässt eine gewisse Traurigkeit in mir. Wer bin ich. Ein lückenhaftes, unvollständiges Mädchen vielleicht, das mit jedem Menschen, dem es Liebe versuchte zu geben, etwas mehr ihrer Selbst verlor, nachdem es erneut allein zurückgelassen wurde? Vielleicht aber auch nur ein Gör mit dem Hang zur Überdramatisierung ihrer Probleme? Oder eines, das einfach niemals wirklich sagen konnte, was in ihm vorging? Ewiglich missverstanden, verletzt, versetzt und zu guter Letzt vergessen. Ein Name auf einem Stück Papier, auf einem Stein später dann. Sterben ist eine Kunst, die wohl einzige, die ich in meinem Leben jemals beherrschte. Man könnte es eine Gabe nennen, wenn man wollte. Ich nenne es nur noch
ein Geschenk - nach all den Qualen.
ein Geschenk - nach all den Qualen.
Mittwoch
Overdosing
“The second time I overdosed,
my body couldn’t handle it,
and I threw it all up.
I texted my dad saying,
“I think I took a little too many pills”.
And every time I’ve overdosed, I always downplay it. I’ve always tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal.
That having the urge to swallow a whole bottle of pills was something daily that normal people do. My dad hurried home and saw the empty bottle and he shook me to make sure I was awake. I kept mumbling “I threw it up.. I threw it up..” while I was drifting off to sleep. He had to wake me up every 15 minutes to make sure I was okay.
Let me tell you now, it is a big deal.
The third time I overdosed, I slept through first and second period and passed out in the counselor’s office. I didn’t want to go to the ER. I just wanted to go home. All I wanted to do was sleep. Again, I just said, “I think I took too many pills this morning.”
The fifth time I overdosed, my dad found the empty pill box. I hallucinated, I had a fever. I couldn’t move my legs. All I could do was scream, “Don’t take me to the hospital this time. I don’t want to go!”
I became friends with a girl who had overdosed she’s one of my best friends now and when I heard she was hospitalized as well, it just makes me realize how real this problem is.
A couple months ago, another friend of mine overdosed. Do you realize how fucked up it is, that I’ve done it so many times that I know the exact procedure that she’s going to go through? She messaged me saying, “I took a bunch of pills, but I just realized I didn’t want to die. I don’t know what to do. Help.”
And I’m screaming at her over the screen that she should throw it up and call 911 because sometimes when someone you love decides that they hate the world, that’s all you can do. You can’t teleport through the phone. You can’t travel through the internet. You can’t be there to hold them and take them to the hospital.
Your love is not charcoal that can absorb all their poison in their life. I know, love that you would have done all you could. Sometimes words aren’t enough. Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes a person needs to try dying to know that that’s not really what they want. There’s nothing you could have done. You’ve done all you could. Just keep loving them.
But you see the thing is, I got lucky. I’ve made it back from 5 overdoses without a scratch on me. But that’s not always the case. My favorite teacher’s stepdaughter locked herself in her room and overdosed.
To this day, her stepmother still has a scar on her heart. To this day, on the anniversary of her death, her stepmother still stays home from school on the anniversary of her death. Her sister is in a bad mental state, and so is her biological mother. Her family has fallen apart.
You overdose because you think you will get a peaceful release from death. It’s not peaceful. It is not like falling asleep. It is convulsions, vomiting, muscle spasms, fevers, and sharp stomach pains.
An overdose is not instant.
Hollywood has you believing, that an overdose is how a lady should exit the world. As quiet as she came in, Peaceful and unnoticed.
You will go out kicking and screaming and wishing you hadn’t taken them.”
And every time I’ve overdosed, I always downplay it. I’ve always tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal.
That having the urge to swallow a whole bottle of pills was something daily that normal people do. My dad hurried home and saw the empty bottle and he shook me to make sure I was awake. I kept mumbling “I threw it up.. I threw it up..” while I was drifting off to sleep. He had to wake me up every 15 minutes to make sure I was okay.
Let me tell you now, it is a big deal.
The third time I overdosed, I slept through first and second period and passed out in the counselor’s office. I didn’t want to go to the ER. I just wanted to go home. All I wanted to do was sleep. Again, I just said, “I think I took too many pills this morning.”
The fifth time I overdosed, my dad found the empty pill box. I hallucinated, I had a fever. I couldn’t move my legs. All I could do was scream, “Don’t take me to the hospital this time. I don’t want to go!”
I became friends with a girl who had overdosed she’s one of my best friends now and when I heard she was hospitalized as well, it just makes me realize how real this problem is.
A couple months ago, another friend of mine overdosed. Do you realize how fucked up it is, that I’ve done it so many times that I know the exact procedure that she’s going to go through? She messaged me saying, “I took a bunch of pills, but I just realized I didn’t want to die. I don’t know what to do. Help.”
And I’m screaming at her over the screen that she should throw it up and call 911 because sometimes when someone you love decides that they hate the world, that’s all you can do. You can’t teleport through the phone. You can’t travel through the internet. You can’t be there to hold them and take them to the hospital.
Your love is not charcoal that can absorb all their poison in their life. I know, love that you would have done all you could. Sometimes words aren’t enough. Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes a person needs to try dying to know that that’s not really what they want. There’s nothing you could have done. You’ve done all you could. Just keep loving them.
But you see the thing is, I got lucky. I’ve made it back from 5 overdoses without a scratch on me. But that’s not always the case. My favorite teacher’s stepdaughter locked herself in her room and overdosed.
To this day, her stepmother still has a scar on her heart. To this day, on the anniversary of her death, her stepmother still stays home from school on the anniversary of her death. Her sister is in a bad mental state, and so is her biological mother. Her family has fallen apart.
You overdose because you think you will get a peaceful release from death. It’s not peaceful. It is not like falling asleep. It is convulsions, vomiting, muscle spasms, fevers, and sharp stomach pains.
An overdose is not instant.
Hollywood has you believing, that an overdose is how a lady should exit the world. As quiet as she came in, Peaceful and unnoticed.
You will go out kicking and screaming and wishing you hadn’t taken them.”
Sonntag
01022015
Und wieder einmal war die Welt zu viel für sie geworden. Ihre Schultern waren zu schwach für das Gewicht, das auf ihnen lastete und das jeden Tag ein bisschen schwerer wurde. Und ihr Herz, ihr Herz war zu klein, um all die Schmerzen, all die Gefühle zu ertragen, die über sie hereinbrachen. Lange Zeit schon bekam es mehr und mehr Risse, bis zu jenem Tag. Als sie die Nachricht bekam, dass es geschehen war, dass sie nun nicht mehr bei uns war und ihr die Sprache verging, brach es einfach entzwei, ihr Herz. Es zerbrach in seine tausend Einzelteile und ihr war klar, dass nichts auf der Welt es mehr flicken könne. Es war vorbei. Irgendwann kommt nun einmal der Punkt, an dem es nicht mehr weitergeht, sagte sie sich. Dieser Tag ist heute. Und sie ging und hinterließ nur den Geruch von Eisen in der Luft des Raumes.
Feeling the fattest I've ever been.
My mind is killing me. There is nothing I could possibly do right right now.
All I wanna do is die, cut, starve.
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