Dear Diary: But Seriously, What the Fuck?

Dear Suicidal Thoughts...

I know you're there. Hiding in the shadows of my mind. I thought I had you caged but with all the emotional upheavals I've been dealing with lately, well it seems you've manifested yourself a key. Please don't come out tho.

I'm not sad. I'm just frustrated with my emotions. Of being too emotional. Like, I think I'm literally driving myself crazy. I can feel the tension bubbling at the rim of my steamy pot of rage. I'm not a little teapot but I'm ready to pour out my soul. I think I'm ready to die.

I used to be scared, or I still am but my crazy mind is romanticizing things again. I just want peace and quiet and honestly, there's only one way for me to truly have that. That's where my mind is. I wonder what Anthony Bourdain was thinking. Or Kate Spade. Chester Bennington. They seemingly had it all but they decided to give up.

I just have me, the only one I can trust and spiritual me is fighting so hard to want to stay, but my human me, Tara, the real me...she's ready to fall. I too, want to give up.

I'm tired of battling my thoughts and emotions everyday. Analyzing every little fucking thing. Its exhausting and a waste of time. I should finish writing my other books but my heart hasn't been into it. I don't think anyone is reading my stuff anyways. Then again, I'm not social. I don't really market my work. I just hope someone stumbles across it on their own.

I want to kill myself. But I don't no how. I'm glad I don't know, because once my thoughts calm down, I'll feel better and I won't want to die anymore. At the moment, calming down seems impossible, so I only see the darkness. Writing has always been my tool to help bring me back to the light.

Its a struggle. I feel I said that already. Its affecting my sleep, my attitude, possibly my eating habits, since I lost so much weight this year. Still don't know where it went because I feel I look the same as I did a year ago when I was 20 pounds heavier.

I crave silence, yet I know it's impossible, implausible, unfathomable, to get any kind of quiet in New York City. So I should leave right? I've been working on that for over a decade now and it seems the universe wants me to stay here. Fucked up lesson. I don't know what I'm NOT learning, that I keep repeating this bullshit of self hatred and misery.

I know I love myself. I just don't feel it right now. I can't feel anyone's love, they're just words. I love you. I love you more. They mean nothing if you can't accept the person for who they are. Never invalidate a person with mental illness, feelings. That's all we are, are our emotions and trust me, I'm emotionally unstable as Fuck right now and I just want to go home.

I'm in my bed right now but I know I don't belong here. My soul is old and tired and she's saying let's get the hell out of here, but she wants me to do things her way. Meditate. Patience. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Love. I have done all these things but it's always swaying in the wind as my sanity begins to fail. I have to listen to her. But Tara, the me I am this lifetime, she's so fucking tired too. So I cry and write and try to understand what's wrong with me.

I have a mental illness. I am also chronically ill. I don't trust many people, they constantly disappoint me. I'm a little disappointed in myself but I cant think about that right now. I need to think of a way to come back to a calmer, more gentler and even keeled version of me. The me that people tolerate. But never accept. No. No matter how hard I try for people to understand me, I don't think they ever will.

Its a very lonely and sobering thought. It makes me want to die yet for now, I'll stay here. My OCD cant let me just fast forward through life. I want to see what happens in the end. I want to see if I ever, finally, get my earthly happily ever after. She, being me, that is I, we fucking deserve it!