What’s It Like?

I wonder what it’s like not to hurt.
What’s it like to wake up and be glad that you did instead of being heartbroken that you did?

I don’t want to be here. Life feels like a prison. I’m being punished. Existence is a punishment. I have a life sentence. No possibility of parole. No rock hammer. No poster. Just an endless stretch in Shawshank, getting fucked by Boggs.

What’s it like to be glad you woke up, instead of filled with choking sorrow that you did? What’s it like to blissfully greet another day, to be grateful morning’s come? What kind of sado masochist do you have to be to enjoy this relentless torture?

What’s it like not to long to have someone love you enough to help you die? To help you escape.

What’s it like to be pain free and hopeful and all peachy and rose tinted? What’s it like to have been strong enough that life didn’t break you and make you jaded and cynical?

What’s it like?

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This Is What It’s Like

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I want things to be better, I want to get better, and when, instead, things get worse – with my health, with the way I’m feeling – it’s a severe blow. Terrible. It’s life slapping me in the face. Again. It’s pure torment.

“You can choose to be happy and enjoy life.”  What a load of bollocks. You can choose to accept and sit with the pain, as mindfulness teaches. You can choose to escape some of the pain through books, music, sex, other distractions. But, the pain is still there. The struggle is still there. And, it isn’t enjoyable.

On the days that are less intense, I let my hopes rise. But, inevitably, disappointment comes with a vengeance in these times when it’s not only bad, but worse than ever. I let myself think that maybe there could be some freedom outside of death, just to be proven, once again, there is no freedom but death.

It’s Bigger On The Inside

The days roll by, still very much under the category of “can’t be bothered”. Eh, “roll by” would suggest a smoothness not characteristic of these rough days. But, I’m still (at this point) determined to post occasionally. So, here’s an occasion and a post.

This damned depression. I could certainly use a Doctor with a wonderful way to escape.

The T.A.R.D.I.S.

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It’s bigger on the inside.

So, too, is my journey. I wish to withdraw, to close in and down, but I keep reaching out even as I sink within.

The antidepressants are not doing what I’d hoped. What did I hope? I was under no impression that they would simply sort me out in such a way that I could all of a sudden function like the rest of the world. But, I had expected a little help in the coping department, an edge taken off. All they seem to be doing is drying up my sea of tears, all the while doing nothing to ease the feeling of torment or the inability to “function”. So, I’m a wreck that just doesn’t cry.

I guess it’s back to the doctor for me. I know she, too, was hoping that the little pill would just make things better. I’m sorry I will have to disappoint her. I’m sorry that nothing is easy. I’m sorry she doesn’t have a magical blue box that can whisk me away from my pain and struggle.

And, again, not for the last time, I wish I could just escape.

Escape Versus Freedom

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I’m really trying to stay in the present and “enjoy” reality. But…it isn’t easy when reality sucks and I suck and everything in my soul cries out for escape. But, escape is a band-aid on a gaping wound. I need saving, healing, deliverance and freedom, yes. But escape is none of those things. Delving into and entertaining my flights of fancy are not the answer, I know, but…

I guess, the gaping wound/band-aid analogy isn’t quite right. It’s more like cancer and morphine: fantasy (escape), the pain-killer…for a while – momentarily, but not a lasting cure. And, as morphine is addictive…

Thus, today, in pain, while my heart prays for freedom, my soul (and body) longs for escape…and everything in me pleads, “No more pain.”