r/Open_Up • u/Vaccu • Sep 23 '16
just a 3 am rant
its funny how when I finally get the chance to open up, I can't do it.
like I'm trying to open up right now. its hard. id like to take a can opener to my skull and see if that works.
last night I cried for the first time in what felt like months. it wasn't even a proper cry. more like fifteen seconds of strangled sobs and my face crinkled up like a fucked up tomato that no one would pick at the store. i have wanted, needed to cry for months. i never can. i realized that my depression is so deeply rooted that for me, my 'crying' consists of me doing absolutely nothing with my time and sitting around feeling my thoughts and feelings straining to get through the wall of just blah.
i feel like i need to write more. i seem intent on destroying my body and my mind. i can feel the opposite of this life, like a bad storm on the horizon of another planet. i made a friend in the past 12 months which is a goddamn miracle considering the fact that my internal toxicity-of-soul levels are finally pushing through to the physical surface. the lie is my ambrosia, i pulsate within mistruth and deception.
i haven't been able to unpack my bags. i have a weighted blanket that i have snuggled with more than another human being, which aint uncommon, so yeah, im like that guy that makes a social faux pas when no ones around and it still annoys the internet. im that guy that you cant trust. im like that guy that you avoid.
i found a book of poetry that my sister wrote and gave to me, she was hoping that her beautiful way with language and eyewitness account of my absolutely botched and butchered teenage years would help her understand why i wanted to destroy everything. i stowed it away somewhere and i never read it until five days ago. some of the pages were wet and the book, already a diy concoction originating from a high school poetry elective, had sunk into terrible condition under my care. makes sense considering me.
these poems beat me up and took my money. i could feel her mind cracking through the aging, bloody ink as she surveyed me, a horrid little shitstain whose true talent was performative helplessness.
i haven't been home in years. i chained myself to a museum exhibit and dragged around a fabrication, a straight-up distortion of my story, like a mutt. i believed i wasn't at fault. i believed they were at fault. i learned to fear people like me who are ruthlessly talented at lying yet have no inclination of doing pretty much anything.
idk. its 3:30 now. i told myself i was going to get up tomorrow morning and be productive. i told myself things would change when i left california. i told myself that i knew i had been lost, but that i would look for me. i would look as hard as i could. i would put up lost me signs on telephone poles.
i would do anything to feel like i was seen and liked and heard and understood but i also want something to smack me around and make me realize something else, that no one probably cares.
1
u/[deleted] Sep 24 '16
I can't really cry either. I only do when I'm drunk, and it still takes a bit then. Do what you said you were going to do tomorrow. Be at least a little bit productive. Maybe do your laundry or clean your room up or something tomorrow. Hell, something as little as making your own bed in the morning when you get up can get you started. Yes it's hard doing something you dread doing or feel that's just a chore, but once you get started it's easier to finish. Good luck in your endeavors and I hope you have a good day tomorrow... Well, I hope you had a good day today. Sorry, I don't really even go here anymore. Thank you for posting though and good luck in your endeavors. Don't give up.