Lost, Searching, and Tired

This was a piece that I wrote in a time when I was severely depressed. It should be noted that the time has passed. Additionally, it could be considered triggering considering the matters it deals with.

Fair warning.

I am lost, searching, and tired.

I am lost.

Lost in the world has been nothing but a prison, a nightmare in which I have been travelling from purgatory to purgatory, facing a hell that has affected me for years, rewarded with a heaven that lasts a mere day.

I have been lost for years, lost to a world that sees only the cracked mask I wear, and not the gaping hole within my soul and mind.

I am searching.

I’m not searching for pity, for sympathy, for someone to hold me as I weep.

Hell, I’m not even searching for happiness anymore, being long since comfortable with the darkness.

I’m searching for a place where I can feel safety’s warm embrace; that childlike comfort that evaporated so long ago.

I’m searching for stability, for self worth, for some form of peace. A place where that darkness can at least be dealt with calmly.

I am tired.

I am so tired, so tired of those holes being momentarily stitched up, before ripping open again deeper than before like a poorly sewn sweater.  This loss of control over my thoughts, over my choices, false love, forced hope, and empty words have left me far more hollowed than before.

It’s not all lost, of course. The people I would trust with my life…I see them there. I hear their words. But putting a bandage over a chopped off limb will do nothing but stall the flow of blood waiting to pour forth.  A soft smile and uncertain reassurances are not enough to calm the whirlpool of destruction waging non-stop in my mind.

Where every attempt to fix the wounds has only left them more stinging and open than before.

But it is not up to you to fix or decide. You want to help, and I can see that. But you cannot keep stopping me from doing what could help me.

I am a writer, and that is my addiction. It had become my escape, my safety, my sanctuary from the hell around me, the hell in my head.

But even that is no longer enough anymore. The darkness has multiplied and taken over that light, and there is no more room within that heaven for hell to occupy.

I am lost, I am searching, and I am tired.

2 thoughts on “Lost, Searching, and Tired

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