I’m moving onto a new period of mourning/black dog. I honestly believe I’m done/line drawn/eyes cut out with the ex. He doesn’t bother me anymore. But I’m now having to navigate through the dark waters of “What if?”
It’s a question I ask myself a lot. What if I’d gone to that event? What if I’d gone to Uni? What if I hadn’t met that person? What if I’d brought that vintage?
Some of them hurt more then others. Mainly I’m obsessing over what my life would be if I hadn’t taken certain wrong turns along the way. I question if I could have done great things. I question if I could have been happy. I question my motives for continuing. I question my every breath. I question if I just let the water pass over me and drown silently and efficiently.
I look at how I’ve not achieved anything and feel like I’m letting society down. Here I stand in a vaguely healthy vehicle of flesh and bone unable to make anything of my life, whilst others die tragically young in conflicts or because of bad health.
I question if my body and soul would be missed. I count on my hands the number of people who would notice and fall short of a full church. I count the regrets I have and feel the pain in my chest get stronger and more debilitating. I count the amount of pills I hide in my house and tenderly lie them back down in their plastic cradle as soft and gentle as any mother would do.
I pinch my skin, pick at scabs and hit myself for being stupid. I tell myself I’m an idiot for being an failure. I whisper to my cats I’m sorry for failing them, and make promises that their next mother will be better. I write notes to friends and family saying sorry before tearing them into paper snow into the recycling bin.
I continue to fail at life. I continue to fail at acting on my suicidal thoughts.
I continue to fail.