So I’m losing things. I’m losing people. I’m losing myself.
I lost my job a couple of years ago, because I stopped turning up after collapsing from overdoses on more than one occasion, whilst at work (unbeknownst to my colleagues), and my anxiety became too much. They rang me, texted me, and finally, sent me a letter telling me they will assume I have quit if they don’t hear back from me. They didn’t, so that was that. I’ve never been back, never spoken to any of my colleagues again, except for my ex-manager who left, for a reference.
I lost my friends that year too. The addiction that took over me turned me into a different person, a shell of the person I once was. The friends who helped me get started on drugs, left me out of everything they did until I became so isolated I just stopped speaking to them, and vice versa. My best friend, or so I thought, left me, saying she never really wanted to be my friend, but after she found out about my mental health problems and suicide attempt, she didn’t want to do anything that might tip me over the edge. The ego of that girl, like she was worth it. Pffft. She even said she only cared if I died cause she didn’t want to be the girl living in the flat next to the girl who killed herself in it. Well, that’s friends for you. Mine, anyway.
I lost myself that year too. I stopped going to university, I had made friends in my final year, finally, but somehow I just didn’t care about my degree anymore. I didn’t care about myself, I expected to die of an overdose, accidental or purpose, whatever. When I’d made it through without dying but having lost everybody I thought was a friend, and lost the person I was, I decided it was time to lose my life too. My second hanging attempt didn’t work either, and when my one last “friend” tried and nearly got me locked up in the inpatient mental health ward, I decided to leave. I lost my flat. I went back home. All this time later I’m still here, hoping to earn enough to move out. Why? Because I want isolation. I want my own space and to play my emo music as loud as possible and scream into my pillow and go for walks at 3am in the pouring rain or snow. I used to do that. I lost that too.
I lost my next job, when I had the chance to keep it. My boss told me I started off as one of the best temps they’d had, but lately I hadn’t been the way I was. I’d sank back into depression, not that I ever really escaped it, but it was a time I was thinking about relapsing or dying on a daily basis, despite actually gaining a friend, a friend I now call my best friend. For now. Who knows when I’ll lose him too. I’m bound to. Anyway, she broke my heart that day, because when I explained my situation, she had such a cold look and response, one that made me hate her from then on. Me and authority don’t get on in the best of situations, but when somebody treats me like that after telling them something deeply personal about myself, it’s just not going to work. So she told me to up my game as they are looking to take on permanent staff. I didn’t bother writing the letter to request to stay, because I didn’t fit in. Once again I lost out because of my anxiety and depression and habit.
Now i’m jobless, with nobody to blame but myself. I lost my other friends, but I don’t think I care, not one of them was worth keeping because I am apparently drawn to toxic friends. The friend I have now is kind, caring, and he loves me. But lately I’m being pulled down again to a place where I almost don’t care. I expect to lose him, because people like me don’t get to live happily ever after. And I can’t expect to repeatedly let people down and not lose them. It’s a matter of time. The more I push the more he pulls, but then it feels forceful. I want friendship, he wants more. Little does he know I cannot love. I’ve become so numb that I can’t do it. I can’t be who he wants me to be. He’s still hoping. Maybe part of me is hoping too. But hope doesn’t pay off, not for me. Prayer is merely a formality. My love is limited only toward my family, even then it feels like it’s not enough. I feel like I might lose them too. One day, I might run in the wrong direction, the direction I was in before, and the next time I lose myself, I don’t think I’ll be able to find my way back.
So I want to care. I’m tired of losing things, losing people. I’m tired of being lead astray, especially when nobody bad is around me to lead me astray, only those that can lead me home, lead me to the light, yet I’m still in the dark. Right now breathing feels like I am taking up too much oxygen, and at the same time I’m suffocating. I’m worried that I actually want to let go of those who love me, or for those to let go of me, so I have nothing tying me to this earth anymore. So I really do have nothing left. I am writing this so I must care. I must care somewhere deep within. I just need to find that light inside me, the part that can see myself somewhere, as someone, with someone. If it’s there, i’ll find it. If it’s not, the light’ll find me, even if it’s the light of a new life, a new plane of existence. At least that’s what I like to believe.