Gratitude challenge: Day 14

Gratitude Challenge

Day 14: What recent challenge are you grateful for?

I’m grateful for the last time I messed up – a few months ago. I’m grateful because of all it taught me. I’m grateful because seeing what it was like for me then, using to burn and burning, actually showed me how far I’d come. Everything in life can be a stumbling block or stepping stone. I stumbled. I fell. And I hope I used the month of messing up to learn how much going present means to me. I hope it taught me to be grateful. I hope I used it to grow. I’m grateful for it because it makes me appreciate where I am today, that I’m here just being, not messing my life up. I’m grateful because of the appreciation it gave me, awareness, for the journey, and that messing up is just a part of the journey of life.

Gratitude challenge day 14: Spend the day being an optimist.


Love, light, and glitter

TW: How do I get from where I am now to where I want to be?

How do I get from A to B? How do I get from where I am now, to where I want to be?

I spent today freaking out. I realised later on that I was on the verge of a panic attack. That is actually major news for me. The realisation and awareness I mean. Of how on edge I was. Of being able to label it. Not that I ever have had panic attacks – or, I probably pretty much have, I just call it freaking out and don’t label the not breathing, freaking out as panicking because there’s no fear of anything.

I got back last night. The last leg of the journey home was spent thinking about burning and using cocodamol. This morning I messed with burning, meaning only messed. I stopped before I blistered myself. I thought that being away would take me out of the situation and when I came back it would be different. Except that it isn’t. I thought that when I came home I would be able to look at what was and be able to figure out how to move forward. Except that it isn’t what was, but it is what is. There is no past here for it’s the present. It’s the need to burn in the present moment.

I was listening to a class last night. It was actually on prophecy, how prophecy is about disconnecting from your own finiteness enough to be able to tune into infinity. Strange how all the class said was my thoughts on what prophecy would be. And that prophecy doesn’t exist today. Other interesting points he made. One point struck me – that we can’t get pleasure from what we need. If we have a need to eat, we won’t enjoy the food. I need to burn myself. I don’t get pleasure from it. It’s just a need. I also need sugar more now that I’m home. I don’t know what the underlying need is that I’m trying to fill. I know it can’t really be filled by burning myself, but temporarily it can. And burning only counts if it blisters. And I don’t want more scars. And I can’t burn myself as much coz’ I can’t take painkillers to dull the pain enough to help me endure more to burn more. That sounds a bit crazy as I write it, but, it’s just the reality. And I haven’t journaled in ages – which is disconnected I know. I can go off onto so many tangents. If I let myself. In a way it’s fun to. Freeing to. I can feel the tear tracks on my face from the few tears I let happen.

So A. Where I am now. That I need to burn myself and I’m acting on it. I’m not making a comment about using cocodamol for I haven’t yet today – the first day I’m back – and I hope not to for it really made me ill (a few wouldn’t, but I don’t know how to stop at just a few) and I really don’t want to kill myself. I don’t mind being dead, but, I don’t want to end my life, and if I’m making myself that ill I’m not present and no clue what it’ll be doing to me. Where am I else? I don’t know. For the only thing I can see at present is burning. Everything else fades into the background.

B. Where I want to be. I don’t want this, my present reality, for my life. I want to be loving a life I live and living a life I love. That’s always been my refrain. What does that look like? I don’t know what it looks like. It looks like being present. Which I was. I have to remember that I really and truly was and that just coz’ this is my reality it doesn’t take away from what my reality was. It looks like peace. It looks like serenity. Connection – to myself, others, a source of the world (I have the last most of the 3, which is in a way surprising. Maybe not surprising, for it’s something I’ve worked on a lot, but unexpected). It looks like understanding myself and my world. It looks like being able to identify emotions, know what I feel, when I feel it, eventually why, and how to handle it, or live through it. It looks like forgiveness. Of others, and mainly of myself, and most definitely of a source of the world. It looks like okayness. It looks like reality, like the reality that some people on WP show through their blogging that they’re living.

How do I get from A to B? I don’t honestly know. I’m so frustrated with what is, for however much I know it doesn’t cancel out what was, it makes me wonder if I was imagining how okay I was. I know it wasn’t my imagination. I know it was the truth. I know from my friends. I know from myself. I know from the relationships I’ve built with people. I know because I see how much I’m a part of my family now, which, I never used to be. I know because I see how I’m more aware of things, I see the ‘before’ that never used to exist. I know because I’m taking some sort of responsibility for my life. Responsibility I never used to own. I know because I see the boundaries I’m keeping with others. I see some of the honesty I have with people. I see change. Even today when I’m not handling I see how much is different, and it shows me that what was, the okayness, the presentness, was real. I was still working towards where I wanted to be. I was putting in place different things I wanted. Like exercise classes. I wonder how real it all was. And I know it was real.

I don’t know how to go from here. I don’t know what I need to get me from A to B.I know I need help, I just don’t know what kinda help that would look like. I know I can’t do it on my own. Yet I know that I have to. Writing, journaling, has always been the best form of therapy for me. It’s how I’ve worked through my world. It’s how I’ve learned to understand myself and others. It’s how I’ve connected to myself and others. It’s how I’ve let go. Writing is the best therapy. And it’s not something I’ve been doing. It’s not something I’ve been able to do. I can’t let myself just ramble. I can’t do it. There’s not enough safety to do so. And that just is.

There’s something I want to set up, and don’t know if I can do so myself, if I can’t find it in existence – and I don’t know how to find out, and that’s a DBT group. The only thing is, it was on my plans to set it up, and the kinda thing I wanted was a group of say 4 people, all who were in a good space, none who would trigger me. And now I’m in that space that I don’t want anyone to be in. That was part of my plans to getting where I wanted to be. Before I messed up. It’s still part ofmy plans, just that I don’t have the headspace as much now, and I don’t know how to ask someone I was thinking of asking about it.

I don’t know. Everything just is. And every day is a new day with every moment a new moment. I was in the library earlier and I was wondering whether the guy who was serving me could see how much I was freaking out. I was wondering how visible it was.

There is someone I can text and ask if she’ll help me. And I’m going to text her when I’ve finished writing this. My only hesitation is, my real hesitation, is that she isn’t the right person to ask. She does energy work and has helped me a really lot, and she thinks that is all I need to do. I don’t know what she thinks. I do know that any time I’ve asked her about therapy she hasn’t been keen. That’s not true. Sometimes she has been really for it and has thought I should go for it. I know that she’s right with what she says – that talk therapy isn’t for me. For that comes from what I’ve told her. I don’t do speaking. I don’t do talking. She does the work that she does often without me at all, not even on the phone, because I really cannot handle it. Speaking to her sends me spiraling. Not always, but when I’m in this mode it makes it worse. Speaking to anyone would, especially because I just don’t do talking. So maybe she can advise me. For maybe she wouldn’t actually tell me not to do anything. Maybe she would have an idea of what I can do. I actually want her on board with anything I do, more like to know in advance, but either way it’s okay. And I don’t recall what I was trying to say. Other than that I’ll text her and see if she has any suggestions and/or can help me at all. I also saw on the IAPT site for my community that they offer mindfulness classes for a few weeks if they think you’ll benefit. I’ve done an MBSR course before and found it really helpful, so maybe I’ll call and see if they can offer a class. (edit: I just texted her asking if there’s any way she can help me figure out/plan how to get from here to whatever B may look like, and, will see, for now I just want to get back to what I was doing – nothing good, but that’s just what is. To which she replied likely. I’m not sure if I am meant to respond. Will see).

I’m tired. And just tired. I wish I weren’t back here, and wonder if I’ve brought it upon myself. And yes I know logically speaking that I haven’t. And that it just is and that it’ll have to change and pass and that it will. However much I wish this weren’t the reality, it just is. And wishing ain’t gonna do anything.

I start work soon. I really want to be present. I want to be giving my students my all and not shortchanging them or myself. Which if I’m messing up and not present at work I will be. But that also just is. And, I want to get to point B. That’s half the journey. That I want it. That I don’t want this for myself or my life. Tomorrow – whenever that tomorrow comes – is a new day.

I hope I’m not going to regret publishing this, as when I started writing I thought it would be a private post.

Love, light and glitter

Happy new year!

TW: Thinking about the thoughts of using.

Trigger warning. Please do not read this if it could trigger or disrupt you in any way.

I was thinking. About how much I think about using cocodamol. Just a few. Just to see if it helps. I liked bgddyjim’s post. It got me thinking. How using, which I think of so often, even just to see, will ultimately end in suicide. Well, I’ve always known that.

I realised that thinking of using is an instinctive thought. And it makes sense it is so instinctive because it is something that has helped me in the past and would help me in the present. I know if I start it’ll end up with suicide because eventually I’ll go back to the plan I had (which involved using), which however much is/was designed to fail, it was designed with different things in mind and I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. The thoughts of self harming (which are pretty much as constant as using – it goes, I wonder what would happen if I use or self harm) are more real, especially because, well, no because. It’s just that I do more. I’ve not done anything that would scar and I hope I don’t – I really don’t want more scars. I guess self harming doesn’t take me down the same tracks (to suicide) as using does. And I don’t count anything I do to myself as anything related to self harm. (I guess yay me for finally acknowledging that what I do probably comes under the category of self harm – even if and though I dont think that’s really why I’m doing it.) I guess it’s a bit like my issues with food. It’s not okay and will have to change one day but I’m leaving it on the backburner and not making it into a bigger deal than it is, and when I can deal with it I will.

My goal for the new year is to by the end of the next year have thrown away all that I have collected. Thinking about it, I haven’t bought any more in a long while. Thinking of using can be really real. I can and do visualise myself taking some. Opening a box and taking a few. I can feel, smell and sorta taste it. More often than I’d like. But in reality it isn’t what I want.

More than I want to use, I want to be okay.  More than I want to cut off from it – my world, life, everything – I want to be present and learn to live with all that I don’t know. So, it’s the realisation. That I’ve been thinking of using lots, and it’s quote on quote normal. It makes sense that I’ll think of doing something that helped me in the past and would help me. It doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. It doesn’t mean I have to act on it. It doesn’t have to define me.

And I get to choose. I have a choice. I choose, for this moment in time, I choose life. I choose, for this moment in time, to see all the possibilities, all that could be. I choose, for this moment in time, to believe in hope, in change, in growth, in a future. I choose, for this moment in time, to believe that I’m worthy of that future and that even if I don’t deserve it, I can get to live with it anyways. I choose life. For this moment I choose life.

Bridges we build

Bridges.

Bridges. Bridges. Bridges

The first bridge that comes to mind is the golden gate bridge in San Francisco

Image of the golden gate bridge

I was planning on writing a bridges post in response to Kate’s Friday Fun Challenge. I was specifically thinking about the bridges we build in relationships, how we mend them and repair them. How the bridges make the relationship that bit stronger.

Bridges take us from one place to another. From one world to another. They help us enter arenas we never dreamed possible.

Then I remembered this Ted talk that I once listened to and found inspiring, by Kevin Briggs. He worked by the Golden Gate bridge and was often there to give someone a reason not to jump. The bridge between suicide and life. It feels like the perfect thing to share.

Bridges. So long as we can build bridges, anything is possible.

Love, light and glitter

Eliza

Thinking about using.

Why did I use?

To destroy myself. I had to get rid of myself and the way to do so was through playing with the edge.

Why did I escape?

Because of the guilt. I escaped with everything and anything. A lot innocuous. I never lived in the world. I was never present. Coz of the guilt for existing. The guilt for being. The knowledge that by living I hurt others. That by living I made others suicidal. By living I’m a threat to others.

What have I learned about the guilt/destruction since stopping using?
Guilt.

I’m not guilty for existing. I still believe I am. More and more there are parts of me that know I’m not. I’ve learned that it’s others issues. I learned that I knew I was guilty. Until I stopped using i never knew that I was guilty. It was only stopping that let me see it. Not stopping. Stopping one thing and going to something more sdestructive. That’s what I did until I was playing with death.

Guilt. I knew I was guilty for thinking. I knew I was guilty for feeling. I knew I was guilty for speaking. I knew I was guilty for existing.

I know. I know no one intentionally taught that to me. I know people who lived through hell (unlike my life which was a relatively happy place) and their belief wasn’t guilt. For honestly there was/is no guilt necessary. I know I’m not responsible. (some part of me knows) I know it’s not my issue. I’m learning to let go of all the responsibility for everyones lives that I always carried, and to, begin to, take responsibility for myself – something I never, ever did.

Destruction

I’ve learned that the need for destruction was an act of love on my part. I wanted to give myself what I deserved. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, but destroy myself. Stopping using taught me that. Stopping self harming taught me that. For then I knew why I wanted to.


I’m the person who can give myself what I need. Something I’ve been learning for a while. All the letters I have written to myself. Writing to myself has helped me to access a part of me that I never knew existed. I had never known I was capable of being so kind, gentle and compassionate with and to myself – the person I hate, abhorred, despised most in the world. The only being I really hated. Myself. I could honour myself. Show myself love.


What have I learned since I’ve stopped using?

Once I stopped using, cocodamol was the last thing I turned to. I stopped escaping. The destruction was still there, still played a role in my life (self harm, eating disordered behaviour if not full blown) but I didn’t escape.

  • I learned to acknowledge what I want.
  • I learned to accept what I want.
  • I learned that most people I turn to will let me down
  • I learned to be present. I first learned I wasn’t present by being present. Being present in the world is one of the biggest things I’ve gained. I’m actually here. It’s using this thought that helps me understand last night – I didn’t feel present. Being here. I chose not to tune out. I can’t always choose not to.
  • I’ve learned how far I still have to go (that’s a diff point). I’ve sen how fair I’ve come. Being present means I can be there. I can actually be there. Without wondering if I exist or am just an illusion.
  • I’ve learned, begun learning, to tune into my body. More like, my body sometimes feels safe enough to give me a message. I only get messages of constriction – the not breathing, chest hurting that can spread everywhere (sometimes a pit in the stomach).
  • I’ve learned to accept what I want to do to myself. Some of what I want to do is too gruesome for me to think about without freaking – unless I’m wanting it now, in which case I let myself want it.
  • I’ve learned that there is a pause. There is a pause that never used to exist. Between what I want and what I do. Because I was so not not present I never knew what I wanted to do until I was in the middle of doing it. Now there is some awareness. A thought. Knowledge.
  • I’ve learned there is choice.
  • I’ve learned that I like touch even if I can’t let others touch me.
  • I’ve begun learning that there is such a thing as feelings and emotions even if I can’t access either.
  • I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve seen how I can’t handle some things and I can others.
  • I’ve learned that I’m way stronger and more courageous than I believe.
  • I’ve learned that I’ve social anxiety.
  • I’ve learned how to ground myself.
  • I’ve learned that I know. I know.
  • I’ve learned that I exist. I exist as a person. I’m allowed to want. I still don’t know what I want. I’ve learned I can want though.
  • I’ve learned that life is a journey of learning. A journey that maybe it’ll be okay to exist for.

I’ve learned. I’ve learned. I can go on and on.

I’ve learned and still learn so much. Every time I want to use or self harm I learn something new about myself. I see – if it’s possible to – why I want what I want.. Which is how I learn what I need.

I don’t know why I want to use so much now. I know it’s not the need for destruction. I know it’s not the escape. It’s a need. A need for – ? I can’t face it now.

If I use. I never will face what the need is or know why I need it. If I don’t use I have that chance. Of learning something new about myself.


My period really does hurt. Not that I feel it as I’m writing this. I don’t know that I won’t use at all over the next week. I don’t know that I won’t use. And, something I’m forgetting, I don’t have a week ahead of me. I only have the moment I’m living. It could be one of those moments I’ll choose to use. My choice now doesn’t have to be based on a choice I’m not yet facing.

One thing that really helps me is grounding myself in the present. I know I said I’m so grateful to be present, yet often enough, I’m not realy present.

I’m tired. I want to cry. I want to use. In some ways I do want destruction, but it’s not the same need it was. I want to self harm. It’s not the same. I don’t understand it. I don’t need to.

I don’t know if I can or can’t do it. I don’t know if I will or won’t get there. I do know that as I said I don’t need to base my choices in the present on the outcomes of a future that doesn’t yet exist. Every moment is a new moment. Even if it all feels the same. Which is doesn’t. For I’m flipping constantly. Between wanting to take a couple of cocodamol – it’s just so, so present and real, and a need – and being okay as I am in the moment. No moment is ever the same. And I have no idea what will or won’t be. Which is as it’s meant to be. I’m not committing to anything. I don’t want to get there. I don’t want to face why I so don’t want to. I want to fail. I want to end up using. I’m allowed to want that. And I can focus on what else I want. I want to be okay. I want to stay okay. I want to keep all I’ve learned and keep learning and taking new steps. The duality. Which can and does exist. Just is. As I. Just am.

Random 273

Tried to sleep but was thinking and shaking so was up. I’m not sure if I should really post this.

I’m stupid. Still shaking after an hour plus. It gets annoying when it goes on and there’s no discernable cause. So I went onto my private diary to write about it for tired of whinging and whining where people can see. And began reading the first few posts I wrote there. The letters I wrote to myself are awesome. Just, I wish I could cry. I’m not there now – it’s when I was OD’ing daily – and just, I dont know. I cant stay on there for it has triggered me. I’m in a good place. I’m tired – it’s late. I want to trigger myself. I dont really.  I want to want to go back there. I want to want to use. I sort of want to use. It was hell and I never want to go through it again and I’m not sure how I survived. Purely on a physical level. I lost a heck of a lot of weight at the time. Constantly got ‘compliments ‘ that you look so good, you lost so much weight. I hadn’t known people thought I didnt look good. Now I knew what they thought.

The playing with the edge. The contradictions. The need for destruction and desire to live life and acting on both and trying not to cross over either line.

The sides are still there. Now I’m beginning to tear. If I let myself, cry. I just don’t talk about it coz its pointless. I don’t engage with it much either. I let it be. I write what I want to do to myself in graphic detail. Never in public of course. If it wasn’t myself writing itd be the most triggering thing possible. I’d never known I could be gruesome. Sometimes I’ll sketch what I want to do to myself. I draw horrendously. It’s cathartic. Makes it real what I want. Real enough that I don’t have to engage with it.

I’m tired. And sad. I’m saying I’m sad but in actuality I’m not sad at all. I don’t actually feel anything. Well, I slightly can’t breathe but that’s been for a couple of hours. I’m shaking which has been for as long. And it’s not negative. It just is.

This is turning into way more of a journal entry than I planned. I want to go back there. I don’t. I want to want to. I don’t know. Yeah, tomorrow is a new day. Just that there is nothing wrong now so I don’t need the tomorrow is a new day.

I was thinking earlier that I wanted to write a post on safety. Well 3 different posts of things I want to write. Part of what I was thinking about when I was trying to sleep and shaking. One of the things was  is, the conversation I had with S. Before putting down the phone she asked me if I felt safe. I replied that I didn’t feel unsafe. And she said she guesses that is as much as shell her from me. I never feel safe. I don’t feel unsafe. And that is actually one of the most amazing things ever. That I’m okay. That I don’t feel unsafe. What was I trying to say? Oh, that I don’t feel unsafe right now. Which is good. Coz I am okay.

Not sure what I am trying to say.

Sadness

I’m sad. I wonder if I have a way to express what I’m thinking. Unless it flows, and the words just work, it doesn’t happen. I don’t do analysing what I write. Either I write. Or I don’t.

I’m sad. Have been since Thursday. Since he killed himself. He killed himself. I didn’t know him. It hurts me so much. That he didn’t see another option. It hits really close to home. He’s from the community I’m as of now still a part of. The community she was in when she killed herself a few months ago. It hurts. I’m sad.

He’ll never have another chance. He chose this. He chose death. He didn’t know that there was a better option. He didn’t know that if he held onto life he may actually be grateful for that choice. One day. Is the years in between, from choosing life, to being grateful for the choice, worth it? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I’m angry with him. For choosing death. When I chose life. I held on. It’s not fair that he shouldn’t have had to do that.

I’m sad. And I’m actually, surprisingly, living with the sadness. I’m living with it. I’m breathing it. I’ve never done that before. Never felt what was going on before. My head hurts with it. My heart hurts with it. I’m spending every night crying or shaking or not sleeping. Shaking in the sense of letting go. Shaking can be because of adrenaline, or it can be the bodies way of letting go. That’s what I’ve been doing. Letting myself experience it. Some of the time. The rest of the time I’m ignoring it. Just living through the day. Enjoying the moments. Being grateful for the days. And then when it comes to the evening when I no longer have time ignore it, feeling it. Living with it. I don’t know what it means like to feel anything. I don’t know how I know what I feel. I don’t know where it is. What it is. I just know that it is. That I’m living it. That I guess I’m proud of myself for doing so.

I’m tired of being sad. I’m tired of feeling it. I’m tired of feeling. I know that if I take some cocodamol, or if I self harm, I won’t be sad any longer. If I use I’ll be living in the zone, the zone I’ve forgotten what it feels like, cut off, distant, hazy. If I self harm I’ll be experiencing something different, something other than the constant, seemingly never ending sadness.

It’s not really never ending. The sadness isn’t as intense or as all encompassing as it was. I guess. However never ending it seems and however tired I am of it.

I’m sad. He killed himself. He didn’t see another choice, so chose the only thing he knew was there. And, that’s that I guess. He chose death. And I’m sad. My head is seriously throbbing with it. I relate way too much and there’s way too much of my own life tangled into this, even though I’ve not been able to untangle the threads and see what is about him and what is about me.

Love, light and glitter

Eliza

I wish I could come…

Life
That elusive thing
Breathe in, breathe out
Another moment of life

Reaching the end of the road
Only one path to follow
The other paths concealed
By thorns, barbed wire and all manner of things.

The end of the road, only one path
The one path that will mean
There can never be another choice
Never be another choice

So final, so brutal, ultimate
Yet that seems to be all there is
Seems to be, seems to be
The only option there is

I wish I could come
Show you the thorns are roses
I wish I could come show you
The barbed wire is protection

I wish I could light the stars
Let you know there is light
The only path you see, you know
Isn’t the only path that exists

Death, death is so final
It leaves no other option open
Life, life is freeing, for there always is
Another possibility if you choose it.

I wish I could come
I wish I could come
And I can’t. I can’t.
For you’ve chosen the path
Of no return
You’ve chosen the path
With no other options. Ever.

Letter to god. Part 9

Dear god.

Who are you ? What are you? I thought I was beginning to understand. Yet, I wasn’t. I don’t understand anything.

I wanted to know what you were. And researched and saw that darkness is a lack of light, not an entity of its own. Which would transfer to understanding what you are. Yet you’ve thrown that understanding away.

He ended his life. He lived across the road from her. He ended his life. Darkness became an entity of it’s own. He’ll never see that life could’ve been a beautiful place. You took that away from him.

Who, what, are you? What is an infinity that allows darkness to reign if not the darkness too? I wanted a connection with you. I was upset that I wasn’t tuning into your reality constantly. Why did I care? Do I even want to tune into your reality? What is your reality? Who are you? What are you? How, how, how?

How can you allow this? Who are you that you allow it? Do you allow it or create it? Is there even a difference? Does it make a difference if you just allow it versus creating it? Is a person who stands by watching a murder without doing anything any less of a murderer than the person committing the act?

Who are you? What are you? Why? Why? How can you allow it? How can you make darkness so intense? Why? And what does this mean to our now nonexistent relationship? Do I want a relationship with a/an infinity/god/source that puts such reality in existence?

How? How does it make sense? Why? Why is it fair? How? How can you do it? Why? Why does this happen?

I don’t know what more to say. I don’t know how to make sense of it or what this says about you, the being I was trying to understand and connect to. Do I want that connection? Do I care? How do I even know? It just hurts so much. That he will never get a chance to see another sunrise. He will never hear his heart beat. Because you destroyed that. If you’re the infinity, you took that away. If you could take his life away before he’d lived it, does that mean you don’t value life?

I can’t write to you anymore for I don’t understand anything and am going around in circles.

E

Trigger warning. Why is it fair?

He killed himself. I don’t even know him. He died yesterday. He lived across the road from her. She ended her life in January. I don’t know why anyone told me. I don’t know. It’s not fair. Why? Why is there so much darkness in the world that no light could penetrate? Why is it fair that his life has been taken from him when he has an entire life to still live? He could have had such joy, such light, a life full of meaning, and now he’ll never experience it. Why is that fair? Why? Why do the world stand by? Why is there no resources? They started some sort of helpline here. If you’re asking me, it’s nowhere near enough. A night for men, a night for women, and a day each. That’s nothing. Not a drop in the ocean. And referrals to resources, do you have a list of resources? I wanted to get in touch with the organisers. I still do. I still will. Why? Why is there such darkness in the world? Darkness is a lack of light. So the question isn’t really that. It’s more why is there no light? And why is there such pain that the darkness becomes an entity on its’ own rather than just a lack? It’s not fair. He’ll never know what could’ve been…..

Why is it fair? Why is it fair that an innocent boy doesn’t see another choice? Why is it fair that he is never going to see all that could have been? Why is it fair that he’ll never see another sunrise or sunset? Why is it fair that his family will never see him smile again? Why is it fair that his family will wonder what they could have done? Why is it fair that he will never open his eyes to another day? Why is it fair that he can never have another choice? Why is it fair that he won’t have one last breath? Why is it fair? Why is it fair? Why? Why? Why? Why is it fair? How can it be? How can the world be? How can such darkness exist? How can there be no place for the light to penetrate? How can the walls collapse so far inwards that there’s never another choice? Why? Why? Why?

And why is it fair that it takes something so sad to show me that I’m able to experience pain? That I’m able to cry over it even though I can never ever cry? Why is it fair that something so sad shows me in comparison to last time that I’m in a better place? Why is it fair that it takes this to show me I don’t want suicide any longer? Why is it fair? Why? Why? Why is it fair?

Why? Why? Why? Why? How can it be? Why? How can anyone live through another day knowing they didn’t do anything? Why? Why is it fair? Why?

Why? Why is it fair? How is it fair? Why? Why? Why?

Why is it fair? He’ll never get to see his siblings smile. He’ll never see the ocean. He’ll never see colours. He’ll never see. He’ll won’t be here for another moment of life. Why? How is it fair? How can it be? Why is it fair? How is it possible? Why? Why? Why? Why is it fair?

So long as there’s life, there’s hope. There’s no longer any hope left for him. For he isn’t here for it. He isn’t here to see that there’s another choice. He isn’t here to see that as long as there’s life, there’s choice. He isn’t here to see all that could’ve been. He isn’t here. Why? Why? Why is it fair? How is it fair? Why? Why is it fair?

Why? Why is it fair??????????????? Why?

Why is it fair??