“I want to die”, I scream so many times.
Like death is some kind of “utopia”.
Like freedom.
Like belonging.
That is what it feels like.
But I also know I will never be ready for it.
Until maybe that moment when it’s actually happening.

But planning it is scary to me.
Knowing it’s going to happen.
I’m bad at letting go.
But this world has never been ok, right or safe.
And I know it’s not supposed to be.
I knew it from the start cause I didn’t come out of the womb.

I’m always ready to leave.
Yet, I’m never really ready.
I lie inside my grave with my eyes open and my hands digging in the soil.
Still not closing my eyes and letting go.
Until that won’t open wide enough for my body to give in.
Till it completely falls apart.
Then I’d have to let go.
My old jacket is finally torn and falling and I am reaching out to that girl.

That girl that already found her way towards another place.
And I change into my new form.
Like I’ve been changing into different forms.
In my way here in this life.
But then I can finally completely change without it taking everything from me.
Finally be exactly what I want to be.
Home.
Why am I so scared?
To let go. 🥲

It’s probably not supposed to be easy.
I’m not supposed to be able to leave whenever I want to or need to.
That would not fit with the journey.
And the experience.
Being in this world, it has rules to it.
I guess I just have to be really brave.

I can make weird faces again with my stitches.
Yay.
Won’t take it for granted, I’m trying.
Not to take life in this world, seriously.

Seriously, there must be other places.
But every place has connections to everything.
Trying to let go of everything….
Before I go, letting go.

It’s easier to let go for me already.
When I know I can leave.
I feel broken and lost.
But I’m letting go of what’s bothering as much as I can.

But then…
There’s always something.
Always been.
Free when I’m home.
That’s how it should go.

That’s where you let your guard down.
And I’ve never been home here.
So maybe I can finally drop everything and fall down.
Forever when I’m gone.

If I can’t work towards my future, then I should accept my death
I’m mentally terminal

Intensely over it
Giving up with passion
Raging from the depth

Nailed to the ground
Dropped like a sack of potatoes
Fights are over

There is no more fighting fire
Just burning
Crawling through the still burning ashes

Stitches in my mouth
Blood and chocolate
My teeth on a string
Spitting blood

Everything I bite turns to red velvet
Paying in blood
For old ways to make it through the night
Infected wounds
Digging in the dirt
To take out the trash

Stitched back up
Like my stuffed support animal
Having to behave
No drinking

Just suffering, cleaning
Sitting in the noise
Always something happening
Distracting

Dealing with everything
Hanging by a thread
It’s not holding
Falling

It’s not working well
Holding on
Without drinking
And only eating
Red velvet

Has the courage to reflect on her own decisions.
Shares with us her feelings of love, pain and hope.
She gives advice and strengt hand brings along some greater visions.
And she learns from her and our journeys.
Which we share, sometimes from a distance.
No other mother I would choose, my sister and I are her only babies.
She loves with fire and persistence.
Here and beyond here.
A mother like you is like no other, that’s clear.

I hate to admit the only thing that makes me feel ok is beer.
Nothing works.
I want to not care.
But it takes forever to make my bed right.
To put the pillow down in the right position without distraction.
And I did put it down, but I got distracted, it went wrong and so I started drinking beer again.

And I know I should be patient.
I know I should be peace.
But I’ve been through discomfort too many times for too long.
That I find it hard to just accept it.
That it’s not ok and that doesn’t feel ok.
Life has never been ok for me, has never really been working.

Although I keep saying that I’ve done so much learning.
So I accept my fate but let it be over in the end because I can’t keep on doing this.
Over and over every day, trying to make it ok.
Please let me die in peace one day like I’m dying in peace and beer every night when I pass out for three hours on the couch.
It’s better than dealing with everything, although everything comes back when I wake up.

And I try to make things right before I start drinking.
Why has it come to this?  
It has always been like this.
Just in different ways.

Eating, exercising, not eating, trying to compensate for eating…
Running running, running running running.
Or just screaming.
Drinking, drowning, puking, wishing I could be puking.
But just passing out again.
Because it takes forever to make life work for me.

I didn’t come out of the womb, I didn’t want to.
But now I know, I had a very rough journey to get through somehow.
And I’ve had the best people in my life that I could wish for.
But one day it should be over and it shouldn’t take too long.
I shouldn’t get too old.
I’m so done done done done done done done done fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting fighting trying trying trying trying trying.

Even giving up and it’s not even stopping the pain.
Not entirely, although it helps a bit to give up.
Please understand, just have compassion.
I have suffered all of my life in many ways and I still am.

But I am working on a good end to all of this.
Let’s finish this book of horror and pain, agony, and intense torture!
And yes, I had good moments.
Yes, I had the best of company.
Yes, I try to be free and yes, I had adventures.
I’m grateful, I’m ok with it.

But I’m NOT with the continuous suffering!
And I know this life isn’t fair, but really it is so so so so so so so so unfair in many ways.
Not just my life, I see it all around.
Some people found a way to manage it, but I have NEVER been able to really.
And DID I try!
I tried.

This life, a journey full of pain.
It’s ok, but I’m done!
I’m holding on, but I hope for the end.
And I hope I can hold on for a good one, a good end to all of this.
I owe it to myself and to the people in my life.
But if it’s not possible, then that’s also my journey.

And I hope it doesn’t have to come to that, but if it does, it does.
And I’m just being honest because that’s life, that’s what it is.
That’s this life.
I heard the song by Mark Knopfler on the radio at the hairdressers today, ‘What it is’.