it wouldn’t matter.

i try to vanish. slowly, i disappear, and begin to fade. i push the limit sometimes, to test how far i can go before people start to notice that i’m gone. sometimes i think that it wouldn’t even matter.


“I’m here for you”

No, you’re not.

And I understand that you’re not lying. You don’t actually know that you can’t be here for me. You don’t know what it involves, so you’re not even aware of the monstrosity that you’re promising me right now.

Even if you knew, I could never allow you to be here for me. Because I would say things like, “I want to be dead now,” in all seriousness, and there would be absolutely nothing that you could say to me to make me feel better or want any differently, despite your best efforts.

You would feel helpless. And I would feel worse because it would only justify my feelings of hopelessness.

it spoke to me

it told me there’s nothing to fear about death
because there will literally be nothing to fear.

and it is a comforting thought.

I would never make it through

Can you tell me…
No, I don’t have the words.

… Then can you draw it for me?

And then I realise that it’s probably not so much that I can’t, but sadly that I’m not willing to. It would be really hard, but I’m sure that if I just tried a little harder, I could find a way to say what I needed to say. 

But it hurts way too much to think about, and God knows that I never actually allow myself to fully feel it. Expressing myself is confrontational like that – it forces you to think and feel in ways that I fear would literally KILL ME.  

Why not?
Because it will kill me, which sounds funny, right? considering all of the suicidal ideation, you’d think I’d be okay with that… but you see, it’s not the death that I’m afraid of. It’s the suffering leading up to the death that terrifies me. It feels so bad right now that I couldn’t begin to imagine it feeling any worse. But it would feel worse – a hell of lot worse – if I were to talk or draw it for you. And then I’d be left for way too long to try to fight everything, alone. I would never make it through.

There’s nothing left to say

It’s all just gone and nothing exists to draw from. To have felt it drain from my body, like blood, now I’m cold. There’s nothing left that can be said, it’s all done with. Take me from here, I surrender.

Not in a good head space

I have just less than a year to prove myself, or just over a year to prepare myself for the seemingly inevitable.

The Ghosts of the people that I love

Are they always there?

And if they know everything now, then I never want to meet them again.