There But Not Here

Disappointments come in every shape and form.

Failure, miscalculation, misfortune.

They can make the future seem bleak in a millisecond.

Whatever the situation was, it cycles over and over and over in my mind.

I obsess and obsess and obsess.

What can I even remember?

Nothing really.

Why did I do that?

I have no idea.

Oh right, psychosis.

Shit.

The belief of being a complete disaster takes over.

Again.

For the millionth time.

It grips my throat.

My entire life has been like this.

I have to constantly advocate for myself.

I have to back paddle and reframe and explain again.

But when I have psychosis symptoms.

I have no clue of what to do or what’s important.

Because I can’t remember fucking anything.

I’m blacked out.

To be blunt about it.

I’m there.

But not here.

If that makes sense.

It really feels like every time I go to do something important, life throws a stick in my spokes.

How horribly melancholy.

Disenchanting.

Dark and disillusioned.

It brings with it my suicidal ideations.

How I’ll never be okay.

How my life is in constant chaos.

How it will never end.

I’m in and out of survival mode.

And I have just been so utterly sad.

It feels like the start of the sparks I had going was just snuffed out violently.

I don’t do things properly.

This is an outcome of my confusion.

I have a very hard time sticking to the subject at hand.

And following directions.

I always have.

I can’t properly explain myself.

I get off track.

Unless I sit down and write like this.

Even then things become repetitive.

I trail off and come around to another topic.

But these entries usually take a few days to write for me.

And I usually end up changing quite a bit.

It’s like my life.

Fluctuations of the will to keep going.

There’s doom and destruction that’s always so familiar.

I feel like I fuck up most things I touch.

And I’m having a very hard time noticing my behaviors in the moment.

It’s always an afterthought.

It’s frustrating and real fucking annoying.

To see myself do these things, and I can’t stop it.

My actions become a snowball rolling down a hill.

They get bigger and bigger the longer I’m not noticing them.

Sometimes they run me over before I can even breathe.

And before I know it.

I’m all by myself.

Hysterically crying.

Trying to hold back my ideations at least.

But I honestly do loathe myself.

It’s a hard feeling to be rid of.

I can’t think of a time I was happy.

Just happy.

The slew of physical and mental health issues drowns me.

I have no idea what healthy looks like.

And I have no idea on how to get there.

It’s just that I get to a point when I’m so tired.

And it feels like it’d be easier to make it all go away.

It’s tough because when I get stressed out like I have been.

My voices come out to fuck with me.

I become entangled with their words and can’t tell how to get out sometimes.

They point out my faults.

I try to remain calm.

They comment on what I’m doing.

It becomes a motherfucking mess.

And I wonder why I can’t focus.

I’ve been feeling like garbage lately.

I honestly didn’t know what to write about besides this shit.

It’s consuming me.

I feel like a pile of dirty laundry.

But I made myself write about it.

And it’s unforgivingly negative and doomy.

But that’s just where I’m at right now.

I know I’m going to keep trudging along through my shit.

But these groups of ideations rush over me so quickly.

And I have to get them out somewhere.

I don’t need anything.

I’ll be fine.

But right now, I’m just fucking miserable.

– Keren