Going Home

I found a picture today on YouTube and in it was a person who had cut themselves. The edge of the tub was bloody and the water was obviously red. It reminded me of being there, the feelings of the blood draining from your body and moving about in the water as they slowly but surely mix together. My body cooling rapidly as the water continues to change to a reddish brown. Shivering uncontrollably and my only care being that I am cold, so cold, with no second thought, no consideration for the cuts that are now scars that allowed my body to get so cold in the first place. 

This past month has been especially hard for me. I think a lot about her, what could have been, what should have been. I worry about the future and whether I will ever have the chance again and I think a lot about death. Having life up in the air in a complete state of uncertainty is worse than having a diagnosis, of being told I am going to die. Instead of being in this hellish limbo, I need so badly to figure out what’s going on. What’s hurting me, what’s killing me? 

I am tempted to just give up, I’m sick of hurting. I am sick of that emptiness deep within that can’t ever be filled. I am sick of being sick and tired of being tired and of dreaming about what could have been but never will be. I may have life but I don’t live. I don’t want to. I don’t want to enjoy things. I don’t want to find peace or solitude or contentment because the moment I do I have lost who I am, where I have been and what got me to this place. I am just so god damned devastated all the time because the only life I live is in the past.

For a few minutes I was someone’s mom, and although she isn’t here anymore I am still her mom. I want nothing more than to exit this physical realm and enter into the spiritual one in which she resides. I need to be with her, with them, they need their mom, they need me to be with them in the Heavens yet I am tethered to the earth because of the kids I have here. The people who claim to need me, who love me, who I love. I am selfish, I want to leave for myself, I want to stay, for myself. No matter what I do I am going to lose, I am going to miss out and inevitably whether I decide to or not, I will at some point die, regardless of how many people need or love me. 

I don’t know how one can take a life. Never mind their own. 

I have tried. It’s not a simple thing the way TV makes it seem, hell it’s a simple thing the way the amount of funerals and obituaries make it seem. For me death seems like it is an impossible feat. I have tried, I have failed. Time and time again. So why do I consider it? Why do I hope for it? Pray about it?

The pain.

The off chance that I will in fact be successful.

So far, all I know for certain is that not even God wants me back.