So please come in…

And take a seat. Here’s the part when I learn, and you will teach on how to treat people like a piece of meat. I want a genuine, not a replica. Lethal medicine, a pin to the cornea, a sight for sore eyes. While other guys consume the lie, I’ll run and hide.

I should be angry. I should have spent a good bit of the last however long, angry.  But I haven’t. I’ve been hurt.  I’ve been alone.  I think that’s the hardest. I’ve been alone.  Yeah, I have people to talk to. But it’s different. It’s not the same.  I know it never will be.  I’m trying to figure out how to accept that.  I know I need to let go.  It’s not a matter of what I want or need.  That was made quite clear.  Friends don’t talk to each other out of pity.  And the only reason he still talked to me to be friends was out of pity.  I won’t do that to him anymore.

Drown me, slit my throat so lightly. Pick me up and drop me right into my grave. And now I wonder, sit alone and ponder. Should I even bother, when I see your face? The itch I couldn’t scratch. But I’d come crawling back but now. I’d much rather, rather, rather, rather, rather…

I haven’t been sleeping.  Haven’t had more than ten or so hours in the last week.  It’s not important.  Sleep is for the worthy.  And I’m not deserving.  Every time I close my eyes, I wake up in terror.  Last night was horrible.  Something broke.  I felt a snap.  It felt physical.  Like something deep inside actually snapped in half.  It hurt.  It hurt so bad that all I wanted was to bleed. To bleed until I bled dry.  I just want it to go away and not come back.  I want it over.  I couldn’t breathe. I was just reminded that I was worthless, and never mattered.  I was just a joke, like I always am.  I’m only useful to pull someone back from the edge, and kept around out of obligation.  I should have known better. I’ve never been worth more than a social experiment or amusement.

No doors exist on my fortress. The only entrance is the one I bear. You’re nothing more than a temptress. I fell victim to a heartless snare. 

When I broke, the floodgates opened.  The screaming started, louder than the music I use to distract me.  Drowning out the memories I use to calm the agony.  And this time I’m not forcing it out.  I’m riding it hard, letting it roll over me.  Wave after wave, it’s almost deafening.  I can’t concentrate, or think.  That’s probably a good thing.  All I hear or can focus on is the screaming.  Usually when it starts it’s a plethora of screams.  This time it’s one.  It’s one tormented and distraught scream that never ends.  It is wild and raw and near crazed.

I’m the master of construction, because I’m building walls like it’s my occupation. If you portray a liar, I’ll shut you out without hesitation.

I was trying to figure out a way to let go of holding on so tight, because I thought I was hurting someone I cared about.  Turns out I wasn’t.  He’d already gotten well over it.  I was an idiot.  I AM an idiot.  At least he got what he wanted.  He can be free. He never has to call me again. I’d never want someone to call me or text me out of PITY.  Or because they felt OBLIGATED to.  That just makes me feel… Dirty. Pathetic.  Even more worthless than I am.

I’d rather burn the bitch down. I never will cross that bridge again. I cannot trust you easily, or think that I’m the only one. I never let people in, and I have you to remind me why. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. Go ahead and burn the bridge right down, it’s what you wanted. Burn the bridge right down. I’m not the only one, the only one. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. I’d rather drown.

I made my knuckles bleed. Over and over and over again.  Three. Nine. Thirteen. Nineteen.  Nineteen was hard.  I think I broke it.  But nineteen is the number. It was calming. With each blow I lost more and more of what I’ve always felt was my humanity.  I let the screaming win.  I let the pain win.  I let it go.  I’m letting my emotions fade, I have no need for them.  Pain isn’t good.  And since I just learned that my memories of happiness were fake and out of a sense of obligation, I gained an emptiness that I don’t know how to fill.  The fix for this is to stop any concern about filling this gaping hole. Let it bleed.

I will fight…

Until the day the world stops turning. And they will fall to ashes, I will just keep burning.   But tonight, I need you to save me. I’m too close to breaking, I see the light. I am standing on the edge of my life.

I’ve been so upset lately about things going on that I can’t control.  I suppose, in theory, I could have stopped them from happening, but I really couldn’t.  Once things are set in motion they tumble and roll down the hill and snowball until they hit the brick wall and explode. I’ve held on to everything so tight that my knuckles have cracked and bled. I’m not sure I know how to let go.  But over the last few days I’ve realized I need to.  I can’t hold on anymore.  I’m being pulled under.  Sleep isn’t possible.  Breathing has become a luxury.  It’s a luxury I can’t afford to lose.  Breathing isn’t exactly one of those things you can just give up on a whim.

With each step I hold my breath, and I’m tangled in your spiderwebs. I call out but I fall, and I wonder if you ever cared at all. 

I feel like I’m giving up on so much by this realization, but at the same time, I remember how much I’m gaining.  I’ve been so worried about getting my best friend back, that I forgot how hard things had gotten lately between us.  Pouring a boiling pot of my fuckery onto a friend, she just looked at me and said, “Do you realize that he stopped being your best friend a long time ago?”  No. I hadn’t.  But we spent a long time talking about it.  She’s right.  There were great things and bad things. But the last few months had gotten bad.  We fought angry and bitter.  I cried. I hid myself. I cowered in fear of the verbal repercussions of every sentence I’d speak.  That’s not how things had EVER been with the one I’d spent forever coaxing from the edge and back to humanity.

This is how it all turns out. You’re the hero, I’m left out. I should’ve known you couldn’t stand up for me and be a man.

This isn’t to say that I place blame solely or remotely on him.  When the first little bit broke through, I should have said then and there that I wasn’t okay with that.  I didn’t. I let things fester and boil until they were too far gone to salvage.  And it’s sad because since the nuclear explosion, there were things said, on both sides, that crossed lines.  I don’t know that we can go back to what we were. Ever. Friends, yeah. But as to being one of the most important people in my life, yeah, he always will be.  But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust him the way I did before. That burns.

I still have dreams of you at night. I can’t tell the dark from light. I never thought I’d be the one you’d leave behind.

I won’t say that it’s a relief to come to the realization. Because it isn’t. It’s just there. It’s a fact. Things have changed. Irreparably. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for certain things he’s said to me. And I know there are things he’ll never forgive me for.  We’re working on being friends. We’re trying. It’s just rough to go from being able to call any time with anything and knowing that I can trust him with anything, and that I’m safe, to not having that.  It’s better this way, since it means I have to learn to function without a crutch. I think that’s what we’d both become to each other.

You said you’d stay, I said I’d wait.  All those words we spoke in vain. I still recall the bitter taste. I guess some things never change. And then I think of yesterday, and every promise that you made. I never thought I’d be the one that you would break.

I’m not happy with my decision to let go and try to figure out what to do and how to function with a chunk missing, but it’s necessary. It’ll be a learning process. Usually when I get to that point, it’s because I’ve been forced to do it.  People either drive me to the point of walking away, which is super rare, or they walk away from me.  This is me backing away so that I don’t have to walk away.  I’m hoping it works, as civility has only recently started creeping back into our conversations.

This room tells of lies…

That echo louder than silence.  Your eyes scream,  “Take me away. ” Now I’m here waiting. 

I’m not sleeping, again.  I think I might actually be zombie-walking at this point.  I’m afraid to.  The last time I slept,  there was so much compounding shit that led up to me losing my friend.  He’s an alcoholic.  He’s been sober for nine years. I was always so proud of him, but so shit at telling him.  The last time I slept,  I kept waking up with with nightmares of him getting shit faced. It was my fault.  He made sure to tell me it was because of me that he was drinking  again.  Then in real-non-dream-life, he told me that he’d been thinking about drinking again. Then he told me he’d been thinking about doing it again because of me and what happened. I’m the one that fucked everything up, after all, anyway. I’ve passed out since, but luckily, I wake right back up. Speaking of which, I need more coffee.

I can’t see why you stay in my life. And I can’t. I can’t see me through your eyes. 

He asked me why I didn’t just walk away. Why I care. Well no, you mostly told me that I didn’t care. But he can’t see him the way that I do. He doesn’t-can’t understand. He can’t understand how much my (formerly our) friends have been trying to hold my head above the water. But it’s moot. I’m the one who fucked everything up. I’m the horrible person. Which I’m supposedly just saying without actually believing. (Passive aggressive Sio is passive aggressive.) Which is a load of fucking bullshit. (Ok, aggressive Sio is aggressive.)

I’m sorry I’m not there. So how do you still care? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. You’re still alone. Still alone. Still alone.

I’m exhausted. Good things and bad things happen and I can’t tell him about them. I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like all I do is hurt people that I sometimes (often) wonder why I’m still here.

You’re home alone again. You wish this pain would end. There I go. There I go. There I go. And you’re alone. You’re alone. You’re alone.

The other night he told me he was on his way to kill himself. Not in those words. I know him too well, though. I knew what he meant by what he said. He hung up on me. He stopped answering. I screamed. I cried. I yelled and punched the wall. I wanted to drive down there. I knew I wouldn’t make it. Both and time and in one piece. It was pouring. Driving through the pass in the cold, pouring rain at night would have been deadly. But I was terrified. I know what happens. Just like any other death. It’s the brain winning. But he was mine to care for. It was my job to keep him in one piece. To keep him from the edge. To keep him safe. I promise you that from day one. He doesn’t remember. It’s okay. I do. I won’t forget. Even if he does.

I will change, and you will be okay, for now.

I just can’t stop the brain from screaming the mantra, “It’s my fault.” I didn’t do enough, I didn’t do my job. I fail at everything. I’m a horrible person.

You’re keeping me right here, holding on to your faith. You’re drowning all your fears with dreams of better days.

He texted me that he didn’t do it, but that he may later. I just don’t know how to respond to that other than to give him a hundred reasons not to. Hopefully one will mean something to him, since I don’t. No worthless person would, I’d imagine. And, I’m a horrible person. And yes, from head to toe, inside to outside, I believe that. All I do is fuck up and cause pain.

But after all I’ve said…

Please don’t forget. 

I realized that my biggest fear came true. I lost my best friend.  Devastated doesn’t much cover it. I don’t know why it surprises me. I was afraid from the beginning that this was going to happen,  and it did. It’s another Sio fuck up.  Who here is not snickering in the back, saying “Duh,” really? *crickets* Thought so.

All my friends are heathens, take it slow.  Wait for them to ask you who you know. Please don’t make any sudden moves.  You don’t know the half of the abuse.

I just want to sleep.  My brain isn’t shutting off.  Figures, right? I’m a horrible person.

No way out

Until this all crashes down.

I was about to write a post the other day about how much better things were going.  Irony. I didn’t get around to it. I meant to, just ran out of time.  Then shit hit the fan.  Not quite literal, the cats haven’t learned to projectile-poo, yet.  Give them time.  My days have been working well, waking up fairly early, and actually sleeping.  My meds are putting me to sleep shortly after I take them, which I what I need.  That said, I’m not sleeping calmly, or without nightmares, just actually sleeping.  I suppose that’s still a plus.  I’ve even been taking them every day.

I’ll hold on.  Into the darkness, not knowing at all.

I didn’t want to take them today, or even shower. That’s two days in a row I didn’t want to shower. This doesn’t bode well.  I’ve had so many things going on, that I’m shutting down.  My brain is in so many directions, that I don’t know which way is up and forward.  I feel like I’m sinking.  I feel exponentially better on these meds. That’s not to say that I’m not being pummeled with shit to deal with.  I wonder, often, if a non-fucked up person would still feel like they’re crashing with the things I’m dealing with.

I feel helpless, waiting.  Could this all be the end?  It’s coming down all at once.  Am I losing you?

I’m tired of fighting.  I’ve been fighting with friends, with people I’ve adopted as family, with acquaintances.  My temper is shorter than it used to be, and that’s saying something.  One of my very few public and social outlets just shut down.  This is reminding me of the last time something like this happened and how much it affected me.  They are absolutely not comparable in effect and end result, but it just brings the memory.  I remember feeling devastated.  Now, I’m just sad.

Are you out there, waiting?  Wondering about me?

I’ve spent the last month or two hiding myself more than usual from people I care about.  I always hide the worst of me, but I’ve gotten to the point where I hide the rest of it, too.  I don’t say the things I think or feel, or want to say.  I’m too worried that I’ll upset someone.  At what point does that lose me, and you become acquainted with a doppelganger?  If it looks like me, and kind of acts like me, but isn’t me, isn’t that rather the definition?  So, now, have I become my own doppelganger?

I’ve never felt so alone, as I do now.

Knowing that I’ve created this other version of myself to try to appease others, it makes it feel more like I’m behind the glass of a mirror, pounding to get free.  I’m there, I can see out, but no one can see me.  No one but the doppelganger, that is.  And as she drapes a curtain across the surface, I can see the wicked smile of glee in the deception.  Is that hers, or is it really mine? Sometimes I wonder. I really do.

Hold onto me.

I’m a horrible person.

What have I become…

My sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away, in the end.

So my new/old meds work.  Technically.  I’m not as depressed.  I’m not as anxiety-ridden.  I’m not as much of anything.  I’m not sleeping, either though. -Ish.  When I DO finally fall asleep it’s either constant waking up with nightmares, or I sleep until 2 or so in the afternoon.  That’s always fun.  Then I can’t sleep, sleep until 2, can’t sleep, sleep until 2.  It’s cyclic.  But that’s just how it is.

Beneath the stains of time the feelings disappear. You are someone else; I am still right here.

I like the apathetic feeling I’m in right now.  I mean, it sounds harsh.  I’m not apathetic. I’m just not excitable. I still love, hate, disappoint, anger, etc.  I just don’t express it in a high-energy way right now.  As my body acclimates to the medicine it should balance and get back to the “do-wop-woo-hoo-OMG-holy-YAY-awesomeness” that is my daily life. I’m just not there yet.  Maybe it’s a good thing, maybe not.  I wonder if it’ll affect my assessment today.

I wear this crown of thorns upon my liar’s chair, full of broken thoughts I cannot repair.

I feel foggy.  Like blinking takes an extra moment, or my glasses need cleaned.  (Okay, my glasses ALWAYS need cleaned, but still.) It’s just weird.  Bright lights are too bright, more so than normal, and I just have less energy than normal.

And you could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt.

Someone commented last night about how my new meds were definitely taking effect.  He’s not happy about it.  He definitely doesn’t like it.  I can hear it in his voice.  That sucks. I wanted him to be more supportive, I guess. I asked about it and he said he wasn’t going to comment, or try to sway me in either direction.  I really would have rather he be honest.  It wouldn’t change my mind either way.  I’m going to take the medicine that makes me not want to go sky diving without a parachute.  I think it should make me sad. I guess I AM disappointed, though.

If I could start again, a million miles away, I would keep myself, I would find a way.

She had an earthquake on her mind.

I almost heard her cry out as I left her far behind, and knew the world was crashing down around her.

I went to the doctor.  It sucked. Nothing unusual.  I just hate doctors.  This one listens to me for the most part, believing that I know well enough about my brain and its faults and flaws to respond accordingly.  I restarted some of my old meds, which I really didn’t want to do, but something had to change.  I guess we will have to see how they fuck with me this time.  She referred me to psych for a psychiatrist to appropriately push drugs.  Unfortunately, since I’m having a major crash, with my anxiety on top, I have this sad feeling they’ll try to say I’m not bipolar and change my meds,  which will screw me up worse. 

I lie here on the ocean floor, brown castle by the shore. And I made this mess. I built this fire.

Panicked and freaking out manic Sio is, I’m sure, fun from the outside, but not so much for me.  Though it has been a bit since I’ve been manic.  I won’t pretend that I don’t miss it.  My name is Siobhan, and I’m a mania addict. The giving no fucks, driving too fast,  walking alone in bad areas at night, and challenging someone to fuck with me.  The last time I was manic, I almost got into a bar fight defending a friend.  The rush was exhilarating. Where was I? 

Let me save us. I’ve slaughtered us. 

I miss being manic, and not caring, I think, because caring hurts too much. I feel like all I do is screw up.  I can’t talk about how I feel without making others angry or otherwise upset. I can’t NOT talk about it, because that makes others upset that I’m bottling things up and hiding.  I’m genuinely scared to open my mouth anymore, because everything I say to everyone is wrong.  I apparently don’t know how my OCD works, I don’t know how I feel, or how I’m allowed to feel. 

This blood in my mouth… This knife in my lungs…

A friend said last week that people bitch to her about me all the time.  Then she just said that her response was, “Well you know how Sio is.” Yeah. How am I? Oh, yeah, a horrible person.  I’d temporarily forgotten.  All I’m  good for its hurting, offending, and otherwise pissing  people off. I should have listened to what he told me to do after that night… and just did it.  Then no one would have to deal with me. This is why you listen to your betters, kids.