"Stop worrying and stop being sad, you're fine." To which I replied - in my head:
I
feel
everything.
All
the
time.
As if I'm being hit,
square in the face
with a giant shovel.
Physical pain,
it's nothing
compared to
what's going on in my head.
There's no escaping
this feeling
of defeat
and helplessness.
The smallest of things,
become the biggest of problems.
And by problem,
I mean
the world is crashing down on me.
Coming
to
an
end.
I feel like
the world is flat,
and I'm trying
to balance on the edge of it.
Doing everything
in my power
to not lean forwards.
So
I make a few calls.
No one is answering.
Everyone
is
busy.
I've become such a burden.
Trying to get by
is taking its toll.
I feel like
I took a step forward
off the edge of the earth,
and I'm just falling.
Falling
into
nothingness.
A bottomless pit
with no means of an ending.
That's when I realize,
there's no escaping it.
Never.
Not tomorrow,
not today.
Never.
It's like
God didn't want me to die.
So many attempts,
but it's just not my destiny.
I fear
that I'm immortal.
And I'm going to have to keep going
like this.
Day after day,
week after week,
month after month,
year after year.
And no one gets it.
I mean,
the whole point of therapy
is to get your shit out of your system,
right?
Someone
once explained the reasoning behind therapy to me
in a simple flow chart.
Imagine that,
a
fucking
flow
chart!
It all made so much sense!
You go to therapy,
empty your bucket
until
there's nothing left.
And then
you feel light,
untouchable.
But,
there is quite a flaw
in this theory.
The whole bucket idea
is to get rid of that shit
so that there's more room
to deal with it all,
before your bucket overflows.
But,
here's
the flaw;
what if
this theory did work?
Of course,
in reading this,
you might think
I'm crazier than you did before
but here's the issue;
try
to
find
a
therapist.
And
not just any therapist,
no.
A psychotherapist.
And
a doctor to refer you to one.
And
a doctor to give you meds
until
you can get a psychotherapist.
Everyone
is always going on about Canada's health care system. I
t's free.
But
so
fucking
what.
It's nothing
but flawed.
If you want help,
you have to wait.
And wait.
And
wait.
I myself
have never had to deal with
a serious physical injury,
it's the mental crap
that I have
real problems with.
I feel like
for the past 9 years,
I've been making appointments
to meet with people
to solve my problems.
Or,
at least,
get one step closer.
For the past 9 years,
I've been making appointments.
Appointment
after
appointment.
Each time
I go in,
thinking
maybe,
just maybe,
finally
I'll be okay.
And
each time
I leave feeling defeated,
as I do right now.
I go see these people,
and
each time they tell me that
I need help
– as if I weren't already aware –
and
to make an appointment
with someone else.
A few weeks go by,
maybe months.
Filled with days
like this,
and I'm here.
I'm at the edge
of the world.
Until I step back
just in time
for my next appointment,
where they tell me
– again –
that I need help,
and
I should go see someone about that.
I
want
to
jump,
metaphorically,
that is.
I suppose.
I want there to be an ending
to this madness.
I don't want
to just keep falling.
And falling.
And
falling.