The World, An Ocean

i’m in so much pain all the time. this can’t be all there is. please. why does everything hurt like this?

one of the littles just had a complete breakdown and freaked out, and we wailed to our roommate about how we just couldn’t take this body anymore. we can’t handle having hair, nails, skin. we want them all off. please. please just take it all.

my skin is black and ugly like tar, and it sticks to me like glue. i spend hours every day trying to scrape it off—sitting in the bathroom, scratching scratching scratching. i scrape out my nails so much, so often, that they grow back grey and green like tree bark. my hairs have been pulled out so many times that they grow in wrong, twisted and sideways. underneath my skin lies a network of hairs so painful that it drives me INSANE, and i dig dig dig to try to get them out. FOR HOURS. i can’t get them out, and it reminds me so acutely that my body is here to cause me nothing but more pain.

i no longer want to have hair, nails, or skin. i want them gone, removed. i want them OFF. if this body cannot function without hair, nails, and skin, then i do not want this body. i would rather die than be forced to live on as this eldritch abomination of a “human body.”

all i do it say “i can’t take it anymore” over and over and over. i’m fucking insane. i don’t care anymore. i’m fucking insane, and it doesn’t matter. i’m nearing my limit, i’m at my limit, i’m past my limit—none of it matters. it doesn’t matter what i can or can’t take because i will be forced through it anyways.

i’ll die. i’ll die suffering, prolonged and gruesome. i’ll die quick and harsh, like a charge light powering off. i’ll die by my hand. i’ll die by his hand. i’ll die like a rock at the bottom of the ocean, the whole world crashing over me, crushing me, changing me. i’ll die and it won’t matter because i’ll still be here.

why does it have to hurt? what did i do wrong? i’d make it right if i knew. i’d try. isn’t that enough? why am i still being punished?

why does this happen? please why why why? WHAT DID I DO?

i thought i could accept that this is Hell. i tried. i tried so hard to be ok with the fact that this is Hell. but the dull monotony of everyday life, compounded by the oppressing loneliness without leo, compounded by the worsening of my mental state without treatment, compounded by my inability to work or do school or do anything i want to do—I CAN’T DO IT I. i just need to scream, i just want to scream.

but there’s no escape. i sleep and i come back here. i dissociate and i come back here. i die and i come back here. this is it. this is all there is.

would you tell me if this was Hell? would you really? although, i guess that’s part of the whole thing, isn’t it? if you told me, i would then find solace in knowing that at least one other person knows that Hell is real and we’re there. but that solace isn’t allowed. so you’ll tell me this isn’t Hell, because that’s what they all do. but you have to say that. no matter what, you’d always say this isn’t Hell. even if it was. even if you were lying. so there is no solace. i am alone.

i am alone, and the world is an ocean crashing over me. crushing me. hurting me.

― ρ