It looks like, It sounds like, you are okay… So how are you really doing
A rant by T.P.
It is funny, not the haha laugh out loud ROFL or however you laugh funny but the sobering sad twisted kind of funny, that one can appear to function so normally and even seem to appear to be healing, mentally, but still be that same small shriveled sad raisin of a person on the inside. (And you must excuse the ever long run on sentence because lately my thoughts run each other over in a race to appear first.)
Because everyone seems to argue, if you happier, and aren’t always faking it than aren’t you better? But the fundamental difference of what I am proposing is that my thoughts never changed. And every day they go BANG BANG, from inside their jail cell, and I can’t remember where I put the key but the banging goes on and on, and now I am crying. But of course you cannot see it because I am just like that tree in the forest, where if you don’t see it, then it couldn’t have happened, because if someone isn’t present to validate these feelings, then what are they worth?
And I am not sure if you live in Canada, like me, but you must know that we got rid of cents so now my self worth has just been thrown out or is being collected by some kid in jar who thinks that one day all these pennies will be worth millions, but they won’t be. Even if they doubled in value, then how many more would you need to make one million dollars?
The answers is too many
Too many tears
So when people ask how you can be suicidal without seeming spiralling into the darkness and all consuming life of depression that you were in, I can simply say it is living the same day over and over again. Being tired of living, with a hunger that nothing will fill but still you try. And you try so damn hard but it never works. Because nothing can satisfy IT. And maybe it’s the point that there is no point, even if you believe in a higher being, aren’t you destiny to eternal misery for the pain you have caused your family and maybe it is because you CANT feel a damn thing.( And perhaps I should change my pronoun to I because it is myself I am talking about and not you the reader who has stumbled upon this mess) And maybe this is why every time I sit down my feet fall asleep, as if to make it impossible for me to run away from all of this and these thoughts. But instead I have no choice but to sit and allow that BANG BANG BANG of the prisoners continue. Them begging for a key I cannot find, and me searching everywhere for that damn key.
So life has got me at stalemate. Death has me at a draw. Both settled on a tie maybe even checkmate, turning on me. So if this really is a democracy will SOMEONE RECOUNT THESE BLOODY BALLOTS. Please. Because I am stuck between wanting to live and wanting to die.
But of course I could not just say this all when you ask me how life’s been. So a smile and just peachy will have to suffice and fulfill your obligation to check in on the girl who is mentally unstable
Just (frickin) dandy