Little Boxes We Can’t Throw Away

What am I doing? Why am I here again? I was fine. I was coping. What happened? 

Your heart is heavy inside your chest. A deep breath in feels like a thousand knives. Your head is racing a million miles a minute and you don’t know why. Or how to shut it off. Sleep is non-existent but it’s been like that for almost a year now and you’ve given up trying to figure out the root cause. So you sit. Or drown yourself in work. Or blast your music as loud as you can. Anything to block out the numbness and hollow feeling that is trying to settle itself back into your life. Whatever you do, just don’t scream.

I’ve done a lot. I’ve lived a life. There’s no reason for me to be like this. People have had it far worse. Snap out of it. SNAP OUT OF IT. 

You’re sitting by a campfire. Laughter fills the air as you catch up with friends from your past. You smile as you remember how pure and wonderful they are. You’re doing your best to push The Voice out of your head. I don’t want to listen to you right now. Leave me alone…. please. Then it hits you. Like a brick wall. And you want to crumble. Collapse. Run. Oh how badly you want to run. But you can’t. You’re stuck. While everyone else is moving forward with their lives, here you remain. Like the fallen of Pompeii. You’ll remain where you are forever and it’s a reality that you refuse to accept. You refuse to accept it but you don’t know how to change it. Chin up, fake a smile, carry on. 

You’re on that site again. Scrolling through photos after photos of self-destructive behaviour. You know what you’re doing is wrong. Irrational. Silly. But you can’t stop. You crave more. The Voice has taken control once again and you’re too tired to fight it. You’ve been fighting it for so long now. You just want a break. You’re tired of fighting. You want to sleep. Be at peace. You’re hoping that by giving in you can try to understand what it’s telling you. Put yourself in The Voice’s shoes. Maybe this will all make sense then. I know it won’t. But I’m oh so very tired. 

It’s not that you’re done with life. Far from it. It’s that fact that you’re carrying the weight of all the lives you should be living. The world is on your shoulders and you don’t want to put it down. Or you can’t. You don’t want to let people down. But how can you let them down when you don’t even know what you’re doing. You have no idea where you are going but somehow everyone else does. You want to live so badly that it’s debilitating you.

Get out of my head. Get out of my head. GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD. 

You look at The Voice in the mirror.

Oh how badly you want to smack that grin off their face.

But you know you won’t.

There’s an odd comfort in the familiar. 

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