Upon a hanging Body
Angel of Death
- Jan 5, 2025
- 870
I feel like I'm dissolving, like I'm not even made of skin and bone anymore. I swing between extremes... filling myself with food until I feel sick, or starving myself until I can't do anything but fall asleep.There's no middle ground, no peace. My body feels like it's fighting me, and I'm exhausted from the war.
I cry at the smallest things, a far away memory....or at nothing at all. Three times, four times, sometimes more. My tears come like sudden storms that no one sees but me, and when they pass, they leave me hollowed out. It's like my chest is always heavy, but no one else notices or cares about the weight I carry.
And the loneliness is sharp. It's not just being by myself ... it's knowing there's no one waiting, no one reaching, no one who truly wants me near. I ache for connection, but every time I stretch out my hand, it feels like I'm grasping at air. The silence around me is deafening.
It's either the silence or its the constant static in my head . The stress makes the voices eat me alive ... over and over and over...
I try to keep my head above the water, to keep moving forward, but every attempt only leaves me more tired. It feels like life punishes me for not giving up, as though survival itself has become another wound.
I don't feel whole. I feel like fragments of a person, scattered pieces of who I might have been, stitched together by pain and misery. When I look at myself, I don't see someone living ... I see a corpse....
I want quiet. I want peace. I want this storm inside me to finally let me rest.
Forever rest.
I cry at the smallest things, a far away memory....or at nothing at all. Three times, four times, sometimes more. My tears come like sudden storms that no one sees but me, and when they pass, they leave me hollowed out. It's like my chest is always heavy, but no one else notices or cares about the weight I carry.
And the loneliness is sharp. It's not just being by myself ... it's knowing there's no one waiting, no one reaching, no one who truly wants me near. I ache for connection, but every time I stretch out my hand, it feels like I'm grasping at air. The silence around me is deafening.
It's either the silence or its the constant static in my head . The stress makes the voices eat me alive ... over and over and over...
I try to keep my head above the water, to keep moving forward, but every attempt only leaves me more tired. It feels like life punishes me for not giving up, as though survival itself has become another wound.
I don't feel whole. I feel like fragments of a person, scattered pieces of who I might have been, stitched together by pain and misery. When I look at myself, I don't see someone living ... I see a corpse....
I want quiet. I want peace. I want this storm inside me to finally let me rest.
Forever rest.
