Crawling in my skin

Have you ever thought that you and the world/life could go through a not so amicable divorce. You know, reach the point where you have had enough, you fling your hands up in the air and you say, FUCK IT. It's time for a hasty exit from this world.

Have you ever reached that point where you think that the people in your life and the world may be a better place if you were not part of it. Well I have. And that time in my life albeit brief (then again brief is relative when you are in pain) was the darkest time in my life, thus far. I am not much of a praying man, but I pray to the north wind (aka GOD) that I never find myself there again.

One must be severely fucked to go through with the premature self termination of ones existence, perhaps it's the mere fact that it's an existence that pushes one to even contemplate such. I wouldn't wish that darkness, that space, on my enemies, if I had enemies.

It's a state of sheer hopelessness, where the things you normally found joy in fade to black and grey, the air is so stale and thick it's difficult to breath, if food tasted like paper that would be welcomed, because your taste buds are deceased (left to mourn the aftertaste of life).

The thought of waking to another day and going through the routine, the facade causes you physical pain and ailments that no physician can comprehend. You try not to let the people around you see your pain and despair, but such anguish is difficult to mask.

Your skins has been pulled off, you scream out from the excruciating pain of having your flesh forcibly removed, the sound of the skin tearing off your muscle beneath is loud, crackling, the blood covers your eyes, it's warm against what skin you do have left. You hate the taste, the smell and the feel of you. You want to escape.

The pain has numbed your senses, you feel nothing, not even the whip against your flesh cutting deeper still; the whip of the verbal assaults; the compounding and dizzying circumstances of life. Your mouth opens wide wretched with pain you scream louder still hoping for the end of the pain; the pain in your heart; the torment of your soul, but no sound escapes your lips.

Have you ever had a finger nail accidentally flipped back. Multiple that pain by one hundred, no, one thousand and you're still not even quarter way to the pain the hurt that such wickedness of life circumstances can bring you to, when it feels like it should all end. This wretched life, the rules of this forsaken life, the rules, written and unwritten meant to keep order, to keep us all on the same page, forcing conformity. God damn sheep.

Still you breath, another breath of this putrid air, you can taste its poison, feel it fill your lungs. Why are you still alive (barely)? Damn it! You are fully aware of what is going on around you, even though you are a spectator in your own life at this point. You wish you weren't aware, you pray for the end, any end.

Some how the end operates on its own time, much like everything else, and you or some good samaritan stitches your skin back on; you feel alien to your own skin. It's not you. You're scared. The pain lingers, some days it hurts more than others, but you have began to heal.

Every now and then, as if in a nightmare that manifest itself in reality, your skin gets yanked off again; the pain seems more intense than the last. When will it ever stop?

Depression is a not so gentle reminder of that pain, that place between begging for death and hanging onto the thinness of threads of hope.

Why won't life give me a break, be kind, what the hell did I do to deserve this torment. Questions you ask, and probably will never find the answer to.

But life is worth living, it takes an incredible strength to find the will to go on. And as you press on with this humdrum life, back safely with the rest of the herd, you are haunted by the pain of the past. You search out distractions to "kill the time" (you wish you could kill the source of your angst, only if you could clearly identify it), to delay the progress of your demons; they are subdued for now, lurking, waiting for you.

You begin to search out happiness (it's all you can do) find renewed color in those things you once loved dearly.

Life goes on, with or without you; but it is so much better with you.