Please forgive me if I am being "morbid".
That I am not always, not twenty four seven
happy, bouncy, laughing or better yet, not always bitchy.
Being bitchy is always better than being depressed isn't it?
I am one of those people who lapse
into depression time to time and I am not sorry.
Those who know me, know that.
But I find that people around me find it easier
to deal with my bitchiness than my depression.
They don't seem to know what to do
when I get that faraway look in my eyes,
that my mind seems to be flying away
to some darker place where pain feels good
and hurting outside is better than the hurt inside.
That the images in my head seem to be
more real that what is real around me.
Images that come from long ago
where words uttered bring more jolts of pain
than an accidental cut with the kitchen knife.
They don't seem to understand that
their words to pacify me will only
hurt me and them more.
That it won't help.
That the voices and sounds I am hearing
are louder than the sound of their voices.
That if you try to come close to me
then, you won't find me. I won't be there.
Just an empty shell with blank eyes and frozen lips.
And there is nothing I can do
to bring myself back when I am gone.
It's just a matter of time.
Be patient and I will be ok. Soon.
Please don't tell me to stop.
Because it is not by choice.
It overtakes me at random moments
and there's nothing there for me to do
other than go through it and wait.
At times I drown myself in alcohol
to drown out the thoughts.
And it feels better to be in
a drunken stupor on the floor
than in a painful heap with unblinking eyes
staring at the ceiling,
seeing images that are not there,
hearing voices that are not there,
feeling those that are not there
and realising much later that
the wetness on my face are my tears
and my hands are much too heavy
to move to wipe them away.
I party endlessly and drink to keep laughing
and keep the thoughts at bay.
But in the end, we all end up alone.
And then there's nothing I can do to stop it.
At times I think about death.
If it's going to be an adventure.
What if we were to die today?
I think it will be exciting.
It will be a whole new adventure.
Experience new things.
Maybe meet other dead people
who will tell me how they died
and we can laugh about it together.
Maybe meet our guardian angels
and bitch them out for not helping us more.
Maybe meet the devil
and have a tea party at his house. Ha Ha.
I wonder why it's so taboo to talk about death.
In the end, when you think about it, all of us are dying.
It's only a matter of time. Don't you think?
I will be alright. Just give me time.
That I am not always, not twenty four seven
happy, bouncy, laughing or better yet, not always bitchy.
Being bitchy is always better than being depressed isn't it?
I am one of those people who lapse
into depression time to time and I am not sorry.
Those who know me, know that.
But I find that people around me find it easier
to deal with my bitchiness than my depression.
They don't seem to know what to do
when I get that faraway look in my eyes,
that my mind seems to be flying away
to some darker place where pain feels good
and hurting outside is better than the hurt inside.
That the images in my head seem to be
more real that what is real around me.
Images that come from long ago
where words uttered bring more jolts of pain
than an accidental cut with the kitchen knife.
They don't seem to understand that
their words to pacify me will only
hurt me and them more.
That it won't help.
That the voices and sounds I am hearing
are louder than the sound of their voices.
That if you try to come close to me
then, you won't find me. I won't be there.
Just an empty shell with blank eyes and frozen lips.
And there is nothing I can do
to bring myself back when I am gone.
It's just a matter of time.
Be patient and I will be ok. Soon.
Please don't tell me to stop.
Because it is not by choice.
It overtakes me at random moments
and there's nothing there for me to do
other than go through it and wait.
At times I drown myself in alcohol
to drown out the thoughts.
And it feels better to be in
a drunken stupor on the floor
than in a painful heap with unblinking eyes
staring at the ceiling,
seeing images that are not there,
hearing voices that are not there,
feeling those that are not there
and realising much later that
the wetness on my face are my tears
and my hands are much too heavy
to move to wipe them away.
I party endlessly and drink to keep laughing
and keep the thoughts at bay.
But in the end, we all end up alone.
And then there's nothing I can do to stop it.
At times I think about death.
If it's going to be an adventure.
What if we were to die today?
I think it will be exciting.
It will be a whole new adventure.
Experience new things.
Maybe meet other dead people
who will tell me how they died
and we can laugh about it together.
Maybe meet our guardian angels
and bitch them out for not helping us more.
Maybe meet the devil
and have a tea party at his house. Ha Ha.
I wonder why it's so taboo to talk about death.
In the end, when you think about it, all of us are dying.
It's only a matter of time. Don't you think?
I will be alright. Just give me time.
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