Relapse


I thought all of it was gone, I had dealt with it, I was ok. I had said goodbye, I had felt intense pain, I had done everything I needed to do. But then suddenly it keeps coming back and hurting.

I remember when I had a dream I had hung myself in my bathroom at home, and my tongue was hanging out and I was hanging there bloated in the mirror.

The image of a hanging is an accusation, it is a sentence carried out, it is suffering confined to a rope around the neck, it is horrible and ugly and people used to watch this?

Because the breathing is stopped. The neck is not broken unless it’s of the officially sanctioned kind, you are hanging there for minutes with your breath taken from you and your body struggles inadvertently, there is nothing you can do once you’ve made that choice and you’re swinging. You are committed to death. Your body flails but death is coming because the mind already chose and now everything else must pay.

You son of a bitch. I thought I was past the anger. I am not past anything. I am so angry this son of a bitch just decides on a whim that it’s ok to hang himself because he’s so fucking down and out and this and that. You poor fucking son of a bitch. You sick fucker. You actually did it. You actually stepped out and swung in the air and struggled against yourself and felt maybe some kind of release? You achieved nothing but death and despair and spread it throughout all of the outer world. We must all eventually come to death, yes, but to take all of our unresolved problems out on everyone who we barely made an attempt to befriend. You sick lonely motherfucker. To vent all of your self-pity and insecurity just like that. Like, ok, I give up. Take this.

Well, now we have to. Now I have to go through the rest of my life dealing with your self-destruction and rejection of all that I know is good. You said, this isn’t good enough. You said, you aren’t good enough. You said, I’m not good enough.

So fuck you, fuck you fuck you.

I have to keep on living with your cop out. I have to keep on living with this big fucking hole shot out of inside of me. I have to keep dealing with this pain and suffering that you just could not work past, that you just were too fucking prideful to come to me or to anyone who cared about you for help. You fucking son of a bitch. You were so fucking full of your goddam self that you could only kill yourself instead of just moving on and sucking it up and living like a human fucking being like all the rest of us.

You think I don’t feel sad and depressed and hate myself and insecure and all that stupid shit that everyone who isn’t a magazine model snorting cocaine feels?

Why couldn’t you just fucking deal with it? Now I have to deal with your stupid shit and it’s tearing me up. I’m sick of crying. I’m sick of having to walk around this place acting like I’m ok when I’m a fucking zombie, and people are looking at me and asking me to make sure I’m ok, and I’m like, I’m ok, I’m fine, and I even feel fine, I feel ok, and then I remember that you are no longer here and then I remember why.

There is nothing to say about what you did. You did it and it fucking sucks. You did it and that’s fucking great, you’re off in heaven or some reincarnation or some kind of fucking place where those go who have no other place. And all the rest of us have to keep moving on and dealing with our own shit and now your shit too.

I’m tired. I’m tired and I’m drunk and I’m scared. I’m scared that I won’t ever be the same person that I was 10 days ago. I know I won’t be that person. And I’m scared. And I’m alone. And I’m angry that all it takes is some self-pitying, selfish motherfucker to make me feel that way. And yes, I can hear myself saying that and know that it’s me. It’s me and it’s me and it’s me and then it’s you.

You ruined everything around you to escape yourself.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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