Total. System. Failure.

I self-destructed.


I've always wondered what a mental breakdown felt like. People tend to complain of searing pains right through your spine and your head feeling like it's just been bashed against a huge brick wall, followed by that inevitable taste of bloody vomit as it trickles out through your chipped teeth.


It's tenfold of that.


Just imagine that for every moment in your life - you had a direction. You had a plan. You knew exactly what the next step was. You could cross any boundary and pass any obstacle, because you knew exactly how and when to step back to your safety zone. It was like that for me; everything was almost predictable.

And then it collapsed.

That feeling of uselessness that had been pushed to the back of my mind, had suddenly forced its way through those wrought-iron gates it had been locked behind and had proceeded to corrode away that path I had plotted out for myself. Like a map out on a slate totally erased by one gush of wind.

My self -esteem crashed, leaving me with as much worth as a shameless, diseased slut and her plastic body parts. Bascially, I had made up my mind that I was completely useless, with no need in this world, and no matter how much I tried I would never advance and never succeed, and there wasn't anymore point in trying. This was me : A regular good-for-nothing. Just another object to fill up the space on this planet.

I kind of put myself at a standstill. Like as if I was a mass, surrounded by pulsating static. Whose only identification was a number stamped on her forehead. I had no sense of time. Nor an aorta of feeling. In fact, the only way I could tell I was alive was the constant emotional war going on in my head, which I could not stop - or fight.

I literally gave up. On Everything. I was convinced that my friends were just there because they felt so terrible that a soul like mine even existed.

I had hit rock-bottom, but I was still falling.

-xxx-

And then, it started to get better (probably because there was nothing worse than what I had suffered.)

The Carver became a total nutcase. Faking British accents and teaching me elementary Math, when he's usually submerged in his work, leaving me to talk to myself. I could not resist laughing my ass off, because it became to hard to fake it.

God bless you, Carver.

And the Ray Of Sunshine then spent two hours in her car with me, talking me through my situation. She kneaded out all the bad energy, no service charge included. She is by far the World's Best Psychologist.

God bless you Ray Of Sunshine.

Maybe ... maybe I'm not that fucked-up. Maybe I can still hope. Maybe I could just let everything that needs to happen, happen. And I could just hang in there, day in day out, because something good will come out of it in the end.

And I could try drowning, but they'll always be there to pull me out.

- No comment -

* This post is dedicated to the Carver and our Ray Of Sunshine. Thanks for saving me, when I didn't ask for it.