After so many years of writing these entries in my head, it feels strange to actually write them out.
When I was 6, I experienced physical trauma that left me in constant full-body pain. I’m 33 now and I still have no frame of reference for what life without pain feels like. You could say that I became well acquainted with pain. A lifetime bond that has guided me through so many life events. Whenever I am feeling good, that pain is always there to humble me, comfort me, like sliding into a warm bath.
Growing up with pain like this, being unable to fully describe it to adults because I was just a child, and having no doctor be able to tell me that anything was actually wrong with me… that fucks with you a bit. Twists your sense of reality. Developmentally, probably a pretty fucking shitty way to grow up. But maybe not the worst. But when you’re a child thinking you might actually be insane because you realized no one else feels the same way as you, it fucks with you.
In high school I was an insomniac. My pain caused great anxiety and depression, all of which kept me awake. Combined, they fueled each other. Like the core of a sun churning atoms into other atoms through unimaginable heat and pressure.
I started scribbling into notebooks. Lots and lots of fucking notebooks. Hours of writing. All that time I spent awake, I thought, and I wrote about what I thought about. It was only after I was exhausted from doing this that I could sleep. Only after I wrote every possible thought, emotion, belief, idea, dream… giving everything until there was nothing. Then I could sleep. By then it was only about 1 hour before school still anyway, but it was something right?
I found OpenDiary around 14 and kept a journal until 18 when I started this one. I wrote here as much as possible until OD shutdown in 2014. Having this place to write the way I needed to write had a profound effect on my life. But after 2014 I had nothing and so I started writing these entries in my head. All those hours and years I spent here were suddenly confined within my skull. Whenever I needed this place, I had to make due within myself.
When my father passed away and all I could manage to say was I’m sorry over and over again… I had to make due with myself.
When I ended a relationship that had lasted a quarter of my life, I had to make due with myself.
My mom’s health has been rapidly declining. I have been making due with myself. But I can’t keep it all in anymore.
When she’s gone, I’ll carry her too. But I can’t keep this all in anymore.
In your mind, you can fly
Sleep on, fly on