The Sponsor

"No one knows my struggle, the only see the trouble; not knowing it's hard to carry on when no one loves you"

Thinking about death and actually being suicidal are two very different things, a fact I didn't know until about a week ago. It's like the difference between really hating someone and being driven to actually kill them. There was a moment, a few days ago, when I realised I really could plunge a knife into my neck; it wouldn't be enough to just take a lot of pills or tie a noose around my neck. I didn't just want to commit suicide, I wanted to kill myself.

Imprinting: A primitive form of learning in which some infant animals physically follow and form an attachment to the first moving object they see and/or hear.

I've been indulging my darkness a bit in the last few weeks(because I can) and reading up on depression. What surprised me is how many books there are on depression, not just the medical texts or diagnostic guides, but personal journals and stories about recovery. Maybe depression is more common than I thought, maybe it's as common as infatuation or love. Or maybe when you're depressed, really depressed and everybody starts to find you tiresome and they get bored with your constant pessimism and they realise you're not even yourself anymore, so there's no real reason to stay your friend. You sit there, all alone with your disease and you let it fester for awhile. But even that gets boring. You want to talk about all the things your thinking and feeling because they feel important, but everyone you know is gone, everyone you love is loving someone else. So you write. Sometimes well, sometimes awfully. You write to get the darkness out of you. You write because you are hoping that just by talking about your disease over and over again, you'll finally catch the attention of some stranger, someone to connect with. But that is very much like standing on the corner of a random street and telling your insignificant life story and hoping someone cares. I don't care that nobody is listening, I don't care that he's with someone else. I just don't care anymore. And yet I still keep shouting...

Cherries
The crimson sun fails to rise
On the eastern shore of my demise,
Waters ebb through space and time,
And everybody sees through crystal eyes,
As the barren lands of war-torn minds
Fail to lift one more surprise,
One thing lingers in the air,
The horrors of a mind laid bare.
In the end, everyone dies alone,
In the end cherries wither too,
In the end there's nothing left to lose,
In the end there's nothing left to do.
Yellowfish swim through my hair
As sharks all lie around in prayer,
And the prayer they pray is a timeless void,
But no one speaks of this pointless joy,
One thing lingers in the air,
The horrors of a soul laid bare.
In the end, everyone dies alone,
In the end cherries wither too,
In the end there's nothing left to lose,
In the end there's nothing left to do.
Hummingbirds fly far away
Cos we all are dull we're all insane,
Dinosaurs roam through my brain,
The relics of a long lost pain,
The point is there's no point at all,
It doesn't matter if we walk or crawl,
But one thing lingers in the air,
The horrors of a heart laid bare.

-- Mathew Lewis