The Deepest, Darkest

I am that girl standing by herself today, the one with the vacant stare into the dark morning, the one you walk past but would possibly worry about afterwards, wondering if I had completed the task I appeared to be processing in my mind. You would think or say that I look tired and I would glance into an old day dream of a time I could vaguely remember not being tired. 

Don’t be offended if I ignore you, don’t be offended if I can’t look you in the eye. There’s no offence intended, only self preservation in that moment. The last ounce of it that is clinging to the sides for dear life before the suicidal thoughts attempt to kick it out. I have to try you see, I have to curl up into a ball and zone out into a safe dream land in order to survive. I have to pretend I’m okay and then I will be, like a magic trick.

I can’t stop this relapse from happening, it’s a bad one this time. I can’t focus. 

I’m sinking into the back of the chair, an inky, oily substance covering my face and into my mouth and eyes then all over my brain and other organs and then I’m gone. I’m safe suspended in liquid, disconnected from time. Still alive for the time being, seeking a light.

The black will clear, I know it will, weeks or months, I’ll come back temporarily again and dream happy things, but today I’m fighting to be alive.

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