totally unedited ranting, bear with me

She walked at a steady clip, arms crossed around her, and an ear bud in one ear. The sky was gray, the morning quiet, and all around her wind played with fallen leaves.  Nausea from not eating enough over the last few days was starting to set in, but she ignored it as determinedly as ever.  Feeling cut off from all of her friends, nay from people as a whole, she trudged on leaves crunching underfoot. 

Her soothingly sad music pumping through the lone working ear bud was a background to her thoughts.  The wind picked up around her, a flurry of dead leaves swirling, bumping into her and skittering away.  The sky looked on impassively as she wondered if maybe she could be lifted up and taken away with the wind.  Her stocky overweight frame solidly reminded her that this could not be.  She passed a sad thought for the lost opportunity to play with the wind.

 The leaves were partway through changing, reds and browns littering the ground.  How could she go back to that cage?  How could she go back to feeling that way?  She couldn’t stay walking around with bare legs and a thin jacket forever could she?  What if she stayed until all the leaves had fallen, what if she gave up eating and drinking, and just waited for the coldness of winter to kill her?  She hadn’t succeeded with her many suicide attempts, maybe they had been too active, maybe she just needed to stay still and wait for death to find her.  Play hard to get as it were. 

She started as she noticed a man on a nearby roof drilling; she had forgotten that she wasn’t in fact the only person on these quiet streets.  She then saw another man, and a car driving too fast, and remembered that it wasn’t them who didn’t belong.  It was her.  This wasn’t her place, and it had never been.  She had tried once long, long ago, to fit in.  Others had tried to hold a spot for her.  It wasn’t working.  She wished they would just follow her lead and give up.  It was of little importance anyway.  In the grand scheme of things what mattered she?  For she had nothing left to give, and had stopped caring long before people noticed.  Now all she wanted was some peace in which to pass quietly from this world.

  The bright leaves fell around her, the only spot of color in so much gray.  She paced onwards, listening to her music, a lifeline to feeling anything but the familiar numbness.  She felt like she didn’t exist.  Can she be a figment of her own imagination?  Imagining walking and not leaving a step, breathing and not making carbon monoxide, she almost smiled. 

No part of her was still real, this was all just window dressing, and even that was too tired to go on.  How long until people realized that they couldn’t keep carrying her like this and let her go?  She had lain on her back, arms folded over her chest, pretending.  She wanted to go to a graveyard and lie down on the grass, not out of disrespect, but longing.  She longed to know what it was like, to rest.  How she wanted to join the inhabitants in their eternal sleep.

She couldn’t trust anyone.  They all wanted to help until things got really bad then they were all too small against the bigness of her crazy.  No one could help; she wanted them to stop trying.  Making big promises, about being there, and her getting better, then ultimately just not being able to rescue her, for she couldn’t be rescued. Maybe she couldn’t be rescued from the darkness because she was the darkness.

Scars on her wrist, scars all over her skin, but the ones that hurt the most invisible to the eye, unnoticed by most.  The people who had inflicted the scar tissue blaming her for the symptoms of her illness, and choosing to ignore the root of the problem, for surely it is all because she is bad. The people who want to get to the root of the problem merely human and unable to withstand the ugliness, and pain involved.  They are well meaning, but idealistic.  Nowadays she is the first to admit that she is bad.

So much crazy in her brain, it forms a cage around her.  Holding her captive, and in its thrall as it were.  The difficulty in being a fairly intelligent talented person, who can’t even feed herself, is an unimaginable hardship.  She is often treated like a slow child, looked down on, judged, and invalidated.  She can’t explain how hard it is to be intelligent, possibly more intelligent than some and yet unable to control herself.  She always loses to the crazy, and acts like an irrational child.  She can’t seem to help it, yet she knows she should be able to. 

See she is extremely weak, she broke, she got sick, and she can’t get better. She is wrong.  Everyone tells her not to give up, but no one feels what she feels, or goes through what she does.  It’s so easy to say not to give up, but maybe someone should have said that to her years ago.  Maybe then it would have done some good, but now it’s much too late.  She can’t stay here.  She is too weak, then why torture her making her stay?  Wouldn’t it be more merciful to let her go?  She has nothing left, she is nothing.  She’s so tired.

I beg everyone to just let me go, I’m done with the pretty, dark poetry that was the last 11 years of my life.  Now I’ll say it bluntly, I don’t see it as an end of my life; I see it as a natural end of something that was gone long ago.  Don’t tell me it will get better, I don’t care if it’s a fucking Disney ending, I don’t want it.  Don’t you dare tell me that’s the depression talking, I know what depression is I’ve been living with it for over a decade, at this point fuck off. I care about you, but you guys don’t care about me.  You care about who I could be, but I’m not her, and I may never be. 

Eventually you are going to have to give up because this is too big, it’s too dark, if you believe in God you may want to pray because I honestly believe that he’s the only one left who could help.  That is if he really exists and cares, but why would he?  If I mattered wouldn’t he have cared at any point in my life thus far?  I didn’t just wake up this way, it took years.  So everyone shut up about hope, and how sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.  Welcome to every day of my life the last 11 years, as I had to stay alive, but my hope died bit by bit.

Just go away, and trust in God if you do and my lack of skills with a razor if you don’t.  Don’t you see?  This has to be me, it can’t be you, so give me space, either I will die or I won’t you can’t make life do what you want all the time.  Stop controlling me!  When it comes down to it how are you any better than the people who originally abused me?  Fuck off.