I started writing a post on Thursday. It started off strong, good, positive. Within 20 minutes those feelings of pride and healing were gone because of the actions of one person.
But hey. They were in the wrong, it’s been reported (it was on placement), and it shouldn’t mar my life.
… if only the world worked how it should.
If the world worked as it should it would be full of love. We wouldn’t be fighting each other every second of every day. We would cherish and support and help each other.
But the world doesn’t work as it should.
If it did then… well, my current thinking is that I either a) wouldn’t have been born, or b) would have succeeded in dying long before now. Instead I’m still here, still in this currently torturous existence that I just. Cannot. Escape.
I can’t get out. I can’t leave. I can’t escape.
God I want to. I can’t stand being anymore. I can’t go through another day, another week, another year. I can’t see my next birthday. I can’t find my plans for the week holding me here when they have previously.
At the same time I want to go to the hospital or the police station and walk through the doors and say ‘keep me safe’. There is part of me holding on, counteracting in this constant tug-of-war in my brain. Is it strong enough, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never know until this swoop is over… or the alternative. I’ll just never know.
This is torture. Let me be.