My head hurts, and you just know that it’s going to be a bad day. Even though you planned for it to be productive and well.
Everything can go right, but your headache remains to remind you that things aren’t well.
That you aren’t well.
That things aren’t going well, and that they aren’t going to.
It a reminder of your bad dreams and bad nights.
It’s not just a headache, not to you.
It’s a reminder that you’re not in control.
It makes you think back to the days and nights that could be causing this throbbing headache.
You think back to the nights that you weren’t able to sleep well.
The nights where you did not get a deep sleep, and woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. This has never happened before.
You wake up needing to drink water, not being able to remember a single dream.
Your body awake, feeling all the sensation.
Your mind pleading to rest.
But you think of all the things that people have said to you.
You think of all the things that you think people are saying and thinking about you.
It all runs through your mind, in your dreams, it shows up.
You push your body to do better.
You push your body so that it aches. When it aches, you feel something.
Bad or good, it’s something. Something is better than nothing. Anything to numb the lack of sensation.
Pain is the best remedy.
When your body aches, you feel good. So you push harder.
Your arms weak, legs weak. Muscles torn.
Your body’s way of saying that it needs a rest, it needs more nutrients. But you interpret it as good. It’s breaking down the fat, using the stored fat. Get leaner. Be thinner.
It’s the only way to escape your depressing life, always anxious of not being the picture perfect image.
Dying to please, dying to be wanted.
All the while, they want someone who’s alive.
What happened to me? I used to be full of life. I used to be happy. But when was that?
A time that I can’t remember.
A time that only exist in theory.
You look at pictures and think, “was I happy there?”
You try to imagine what your mind was like 10, 15 years ago.
But the only things you can remember are the times where you lashed out.
The times that you were hurt.
The times that you were anxious, jealous, envious, so wanting to be someone else, so wanting something else. Never satisfied, always on edge.
Always thinking of the next escape.
You get addicted to a high, a high you can’t come down of.
When you’re anxious and depressed, you look forward to nothing. You have no standards, no expectations. It makes living life better, bearable, even though it’s a life of numbing.
Everywhere you go, you feel like tears streaming down your face.
Wherever you are, you want to cry.
You want to let your wall down, but you’re afraid. So you don’t.
But the issue isn’t why I’m not letting myself be, an issue of why I feel this way.
Why do I have to be constantly sad, so broken.
You wonder why you’re so broken, but when you offer yourself a word of advice, it’s just goes through one ear and out the other.
No substance to stick to.