6:16

insight seventytwo
i guess you could say it's the anniversary of my existence, my being here and breathing every so often. however no, it is not my birthday, but a year today was the day where my existence mattered very little to me. there were two of these days within the year that has passed. and maybe now i want to speak of them, the two chapters within the worst year that has changed me forever more. and maybe this is needed, in support of mental health awareness week <3

chapter one, a shaken drink

hands shaking i throw my phone to the pillows of my bed, bedroom door slamming behind my shoulders, legs collapsing heavily to the floor. that saddening lump of choked up tears builds in my throat until i finally snap, like a shattered of glass breaking into a million pieces all at once. i have had enough, i repeat into the wall as i cover it with sweet rivers of defeat flowing from my reddened eyes. reaching for the notepad that sits promptly against my chair, i scribble down the words i wish i to say, scream, shout to the earth if it would only listen to my cries. home echoing my movements, i realise the loneliness that spells around these halls, a solemn silence that worsens my low spiralling mood. dragging my bare feet across the cold kitchen floor, i make my way to the high cupboard, that contains all the clear, rosy and dark bottles of calming liquids. i pour what looks like water into my glass, my lips wishing for the relaxing numbness that awaits. drinking the mind soothing alcohol, i clean my pungent cup and amble up to my room again, just as if i had company around. delving deep into my bedside table drawer, i pull out the letters from the rainbow book, each enlisted to a person i hold dear. spreading them out in equidistant proportion upon my desk, a distinctive layout for whoever shall see. seeing my lifeless phone on the crinkled sheets, i avert my eyes to the darkness outside, blocking out the possibility of being distracted from this unlikely deed. wandering slowly into the bathroom, i perch myself within a small section of towel on the pale tiles, body shaking like an intimidating deer in headlights. mind curling into a black oblivion, my trembling hands reach for the death marked chemicals, my self-murder weapon of choice. pushing, twisting, pulling the cap i breathe in the strong anaesthetic scents, the kind of smells that don't mix well with the empty stomach of vodka i have consumed. they don't need you, they don't love you, you will be with her now, you can end this ache, the pain will not longer hurt your everyday movements, everyday thoughts, everyday existence. one sips burn my tongue into a billion flames of tingling agony, an utterly deserved stab of suffering. two sips cut straight into my stomach, making its contents revisit the earth's eyes, the tastes mixing in my mouth. my hands pale and shaken, i take a third, my eyes streaming in self-torture and despair at my existence continuing past this shaking drink. through the split open door, i hear the cars outside, doors banging and keys unlocking. time checking: midnight. i stare at myself in the mirror; hair astray, tinted white lips and drink in hand. why?... why? i ask myself over and over until i wrap my arms around my knees and cradle my violated body, its insides repulsed at my actions. staggering up to where my phone lays oblivious, i fall onto the unslept covers, hitting my head on the drawers beside. black until morning my mind is out, passed out, from the shaken drinks i willingly drank that night.

chapter two,  a blur in the cold

to tell your family your mental health issues is a tale of two sides: support or abort. from the yelling, the tears, the bruises and the door slamming, im sure it is clear which one i received. the torment in my mind rattled deep into my sleep patterns, creating those bags of dark grey under my ever closing eyes. the dancing thoughts of disappointment, grief and pressure that perform the silent ritual each day of my existence tap inside my skull like an army of violent beings, wanting to go to war with my heart, to create that flat line they can walk upon. as the darkness grows outside my window, i place my phone under my bed, a place of hiding and secrecy. changing into layers of thick warmth, i tremble into my trainers, dirt brimming the edges from previous walks a far. without a care for my whereabouts, i wander out into the night and find the quickest path to the busiest road, the few cars travelling late into the evening. frost piercing my fingertips, i curl my thumb around my fists, braving the outside for a seemingly final time. the grass verge separates me from the road, a single line of green buds of life slightly tinted grey with shingle and mud from passing vehicles that roar by. slowing my ambling steps into a shuffle, i kick the debris in front of my feet, its existence and use now over. stopping at a patch of daisies, i slip my shoes in between the flowers, trying not to disrupt their rest from the sunlight that was once blooming overhead. do you need to be put in hospital? you're lying! you're pathetic, crybaby. the shouting echoes in my head, the words from not so many weeks ago, from my family who wish to blank out the possibility of unstable imperfection in the home we live in. a blue van approaches the verge in which i position myself upon, its headlights enlightening my shaking legs and short outbreaths of frozen mist. one foot, two foot. brakes. no. she holds me by the shoulders and sits me down. are you okay? its muffled. i don't hear it. i don't know what she is saying. i stream tears of sorrow for the idealistic happening that could've occurred. we just sit and stay in the cold with the blur of red lights disappointing my hated soul. oh how i wish the brakes were not there. oh how i wish.