What if I wasn’t like this?
Today I crossed the border from the USA to Canada. It was one of the coolest things I have ever done. So why do I feel so empty? Why does every positive feeling seep out of my body the second the adrenaline is over? I should be excited to explore the beautiful city I’m in, but instead I just feel lost. Now, I know this isn’t homesickness. I’ve felt that before. It’s not seasickness either; I don’t get seasick. I’m well aquainted with this feeling but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what it means or why it’s there.
What if I could see a piece of rope and not think of a noose? In our hotel there’s a picture of a plane with a rope in a knot hanging off of the right wing, and all I can think is that would be a badass way to die. What kind of person thinks that way? Am I insane? I’m in a hotel for Christ’s sake why am I so hell bent on thinking about death?! I have a beautiful view, a possibility to swim later, and I’m not in a country ruled by a rotten Cheeto so why am I like this?
I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know. This is a battle I’ve been fighting for most of my life and I’m only seventeen. I wasn’t even supposed to be alive this long. I’ve tried killing myself so many times it’s obnoxious. When I was eleven years old I told myself I would not be alive by the time I was sixteen. But here I fucking am. Alive and struggling despite all of the amazing things and people I have in my life.
I know I have mental illness. I know PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Traits, Anxiety, and ADHD are all very real very valid things. But I can’t cut myself slack. And neither will anyone else. To other people I am lazy and inefficient. I am pathetic and whiny. I am a liar and a drama queen. So I’ve absorbed these and now I hate myself more as time passes by.
Maybe that’s why I’m like this. Maybe it’s just because I hate myself too much. Maybe it’s because I don’t have faith in myself to be better.
Or maybe it’s just because I am exactly the loser I think myself to be.
