A day not like today

***I wrote most of this several weeks ago. I always hesitate before posting this stuff because I really don’t like the world seeing this side of me. I usually break down and post anyway for two reasons – 1, it is a part of me and when I first started this blog, I promised myself I’d be open and honest here, and 2, because just maybe someone else can relate and feel not quite as alone on a day like this.***

A day not like today

There are days when I can’t get the images of slit wrists out of my head and the pit in my stomach becomes the watermelon I was warned of many summers ago.

There are days when I’m flooded with memories of every moment when I ever felt like I feel now. I remember it all – every tragedy, every destructive force, every dark, lonely assault from my own consciousness – every seed I ever swallowed.

There are days when that weight crushes me. 33 years of pain, of pseudo-adulthood and actual-adulthood, of running and running and running to become something I never was, to be something I never will be, to wear the mask of perfection so that the world may one day love me.

There are days when I cling to the costumes of my past because I can’t stand to see myself naked. I say I hate who I am, but there are days when I’m not even sure I know who I am. Years of playing the perfect this and the perfect that, of squeezing myself into the molds created by family and peers and teachers and complete fucking strangers has turned me into a pile of scraps and junkyard trash.

There are days when I welcome the numbness, welcome oblivion, and sleep just to dream of a life where I am anything but this, anything but this overly emotional, neurotic, anxious, self-loathing, perfection-seeking, angry, angry, crushingly angry mess of burning flesh.

There are days when I feel as if this will never pass, when my head and my gut follow two completely different directions, when logic and knowledge and wisdom become meaningless and I continue walking on the never-ending path of my own distorted version of reality.

No positive. No light. No silver lining. Just days when strength means nothing more than the ability to brush my teeth and take a shower, days when I wish for nothing more than to sleep away the despondency, days when my only goal is to survive and make it to a day that’s not like this.

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11 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Karen on January 5, 2013 at 10:24 am

    I’ve known many days like this too Dayle. Keep waiting for those good days, or good hours, or good minutes, or good seconds. Your writing above is beautiful, and those who have felt depression know every word and every thought. We are here with you, and you aren’t alone. I value you, I think you are beautiful and talented. You have a beautiful voice and spirit. Thank you for writing what I never could.

    Reply

  2. Dayle,

    This is wrenching and haunting and raw. I’m glad you shared it. It makes you vulnerable. I wish there was something I could do…but the slit wrists? I’ve been there. Don’t do that. Promise me. Take a long walk. Take a hot shower. Call a friend. Write (like you just did here, beautifully)….
    love,
    erin

    Reply

    • While I am a recovering self-injurer, I haven’t actually contemplated the slit wrists since I was a teen . . . still, the images like to creep up on me from time to time.

      Thank you so much for your kind words, always! {Hugs}

      Reply

  3. I can relate to what you write here from suffering from depression but I have never been able to put into words what it feels like in the way that you are able to. Thanks for sharing this because it DOES help others who have been through some similar things to know that they are not alone. ~Hugs~

    Reply

  4. I can relate to the depression part, Dayle, especially this part:

    There are days when I welcome the numbness, welcome oblivion, and sleep just to dream of a life where I am anything but this, anything but this overly emotional, neurotic, anxious, self-loathing, perfection-seeking, angry, angry, crushingly angry mess of burning flesh.

    I’ve known many days like that.

    Thank you for being brave enough to share. And thank you for having the words to express what so many of us cannot.

    Reply

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