Autoneurotic Asphyixiation

Normal people

don’t appreciate that…

You might be able

to keep friends better…

…You are overwhelming…

If you can’t

get your feelings

under control,

I will have to exclude you

from my life…

I don’t trust you…

You’re selfish,

we all think so…

I am tired of this

emotional bullshit…

The world feels vast and empty at the moment. It’s like someone slowed time down and I’m able to feel the pain of every moment in limitless seconds that stretch for eternities. It feels like a poison, like a sickness penetrating every inch of my body and intoxicating my veins with a sorrowful nectar. It feels like drowning.

It’s as if I’d been turned into a tiny atom and the world around me is colossal and terrifying. A tiny, silent, lonely atom in a world that she doesn’t belong in but can’t quite leave. It all feels so isolating and meaningless and I only know I feel pain because these words repeat on my mind like a broken record etched on my skin.

The universe is muted. I am in a room with people and I am an empty vessel with nothing of value to say because there’s no sound. Well, the sounds are there, but they’re like distant mumbles. They’re whispers that feed my fear, my anxiety, and my self-loathing. It’s like an empty orchestra inside myself.

It all feels like drowning. This thing inside my head feels like drowning. I can’t make it stop. It’s taken control and I cling to Jesus but my prayers feel muted as well. It’s like being behind soundproof glass. It’s like people can see me scream but can’t hear the howling that bursts from my aching soul.

My pain is locked away. It crawls down the hall and creeps inside my room and only comes out in the darkness in silent sobs that are hidden from the world. And I wish I could open the door, or crack a window, and let the world hear it. But instead, I sit in the dark, empty silence and weep and pray and sleep.

The world inside is crumbling but without I try to keep calm. It all feels so pointless, like I’m putting on this show with these useless happy feelings but who cares whether you’re happy or sad? It’s all one and the same. Your pain doesn’t matter to the world. So I stay calm by staying busy, but sleep must come.

Sleep is a terror. I can’t do anything but lay in bed and tried to silence my mind which is screeching and tearing open the lacerations. Wounds bare, I seek sleep through the comfort of the ocean, or the wind, or piano and violin but the only sound I can hear inside is the ticking clock until three in the morning when exhaustion might win out or I force myself to lay with my thoughts in the hopes of rest.

In the morning, the world is trembling. I feel myself getting sick. My hands shake in panic and anger. My eyes hurt and swell until I can barely see. I’m so dizzy. I’m so weak. It’s like this invisible illness inside my head is escaping through my pores and shouting “here I am, I am valid. I am in pain!”

The sickness you carry in your head is meaningless. Nobody cares that you hate yourself because you hide it so well in your arrogant veneer. Who cares about your pain when everyone is silently carrying their own because we’re supposed to not care or be vulnerable or be real? Good God, what does it matter that you’re haunted by echoes of sharp words – stabbing.

You probably brought in on yourself. You’re not normal. The way you claim to “love” is not normal. You’re overwhelming and I don’t trust you. Normal people don’t appreciate that. You’re selfish. Maybe if you stopped you’d be able to keep friends better. Honestly, if you can’t keep your emotions under control, I will have to exclude you from my life. I’m over this emotional bullshit. We all think so.

That’s the melancholy tune my empty orchestra plays in this head that can’t be right because normal people aren’t like this. Normal people don’t feel things this way. Normal people don’t vent like I do. Normal people don’t cling to others like you do. Normal people can just stop. Normal people…normal people don’t want to die.

I feel displaced. It’s like I’m shipwrecked in this tiny lifeboat and I drifted so far away from the people I know and now there’s nothing but a broken ship and miles of vacant ocean. I want to swim home, but the only home I think I still have at this point is up in the clouds somewhere – lost to me.

I feel small, inadequate, and unlovable. If I didn’t wake up tomorrow morning, I’m not sure I know what love feels like. It’s like this vague idea in my head and I can assume certain people do love me, but all I carry is my rejection and my pain. That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard. I just want someone to hug me like they mean it. I just want to feel like I am enough.

These words weigh me down. My entire life is comprised of words and I just want to be quiet for a while because I have nothing of value to say. All I have are these words said to me, and I wear them like thorns that draw forth bursting, rotting, matted blood. I keep them like burns and bruises that decorate my skin and I try to make art of them because I don’t know where else these words will feel at home.

It all feels like madness. Like I’m losing my mind, like reality is fragmented and whatever was keeping me tethered to this earth is gone and I have lost direction. I think I’m afraid of love. I think I bed and chase like an abused stray dog because I know these people won’t love me back. I’ve been living in the shadows of pain and pity for so long that I don’t remember how to live in the light of love.

It feels like I’ve lost myself in a journey. Like I started running so long ago but when I stopped for air I realized I had no idea where I’d been going and no idea of where I ended up. I look at the shiny little girl I once was and I ponder whether she, too, wonders how we ended up here.

I want to say sorry to her. If my mind can quiet down it’s pain and rationalizations, it’s excuses and apologies. I’d like to apologize to that little girl, I’d like to apologize to myself. For wearing these words like a scarlet letter. For apologizing when I’ve done no wrong. For loving to this excess that kills me. For loving and respecting others more than I’ve ever loved and respected myself.

I am sorry. I wish I could tell you convincingly that you’re not a bad person. I wish I could tell you that you’re not selfish. I wish I could tell you that you’re not overwhelming and have you actually believe me – believe yourself…myself. I wish I could fix you like I try to fix everyone else. I wish I loved you like I love those who said these things to me. I wish I could brand you myself.

#essay #nonfiction #emotions #life #pain #friendship #hurt #depression