Suicide Diary.

Parts Of Me I Fear To Meet.

Have you ever felt the absence of life? Like something terrible happened to you, and you can feel your mind withholding it?

I feel a sense of abandonment that comes only with the haziness of my earlier years. Perhaps my brain believes me weak, as I can not seem to handle my own origin story. Should I take that as an insult? Or should I accept that as mercy?

But to know who I am, I must know who I was, right? How can I understand and love my brokenness, if I can't remember what broke me?

I often times find myself looking in a mirror that shows me a person I have no way of knowing. As if I read only the last page of a book and expected to understand the actions of the characters. And I fear that this may prove necessary in healing the parts of me I know I'll never love. The parts of me I have rejected in my nights of hazardous thinking and uneven breaths. How can I choose to break out of a mold I don't even recognize?

If the only thing I have to base the blank pages of my life off of is the unexplained levels of panic that boil under the surface of my calm, then surely whatever my brain has chosen to shield me from is far stronger then the one who chose to inflict it. The damage has been far too great for it to be simply a 'bad day.'

And while there is a possibility that I may never know the lengths in which my trauma has reached, I know the depths of the pain it's brought me. And if there is only one word I must use to describe it, terminal, would be the only one to do it justice.

But I must choose to believe that there will come a time where I remember the explosion that left me in the rubble of myself. For I fear that may be the only way to truly get closure. And so I choose to believe that it is with knowing, that I will find peace.

Unfortunately, it is also with knowing, that I may be changed in ways I didn't   perceive possible. Perhaps my brain has kept me from a lethal dose of a drug I'm not yet prepared to take. But trusting myself blindly is not something I'm fond of. Nor is it something I plan to do.

For I've found that at the end of this life, I will not be pleased with the person I'm with. Me. As I know there are many others who have cared for me so much more. And if we truly only have ourselves in this world, then I surely am alone.

I have spent the better part of my short lived and under appreciated life growing content and comfortable in the unknown, the blanks. And I have only just recently made an attempt to fill them in.

It truly lurks in the emptiness of my dreams that if I remember the entirety of what my mind has hidden, that, perhaps then it'll be enough. Maybe then it'll be enough pain for me to finally give myself a break for being the person I've grown so quick to hate.

Or maybe it'll just give me more reason to.

But if I never remember, and I shoot my gun into the dark, unfamiliar with who or what I'm shooting at, am I then promised to lose the fight?

Or is me losing, the only way for it to end?

~Toxic.