I Miss the Comfort in Suffering
I don't even know how to describe my feelings over the last few days
Pain feels close, it's unambiguously bad while still describe a clear objective feeling but whatever I'm feeling isn't physical
I want to scream and shout but my stupid ugly moth brain won't dare let me make a sound or do something that might draw even the tiniest of attention to what's going on
I wish I had a friend who would just let me cry, I know people in my life who probably would listen and care about me but my mind has found a million ways to exclude them:
- Dealing with their own issues or I don't want to ruin their good mood
- To close to me and I don't want them to think I'm always depressed or not close enough and I don't want to ruin the friendship
I always thought that in some strange poetic sense I had found comfort in suffering, like terrible things happening to me meant I didn't need to deal with the anxiety of something that makes me happy being too good to be true
But where the fuck is my comfort now? I've done fuck all this week and I just want to curl up into a ball. I don't have the energy to cry let alone cut myself
How fucked is my brain that I now fantasize about someone gently telling me it'll be ok as they carve my skin off? The real irony is I have a draft blog post talking about the wonderful time I had last Saturday but now that feels like it was a million years ago
I keep reading over the draft so I can make the final edits before posting but it all feels so foreign to me. Thinking about being happy would be like explaining color to the blind
If I just used half the energy I spend thinking about ruining myself on actually trying to be better I'd probably be in a much better position but I fucking can't
/vent