Sandpaper & Silk

I can't believe this is what I've done. I'm starting to come down from everything and the wreckage around me is burning. Everything moves in slow motion as I open my eyes. Dawn is cracking on the horizon, the light white and shining in my eyes. What has everything come to? Bile makes its way up the back of my throat, the memory of the previous days humiliation wraps around me like a cloak. It's what catches my eye that brings the blurring sensation of events back into focus. Blood stains that have soaked the sheets and matress, things mirroring that of a crime scene, stare back at me and I rememeber what I've done to myself. It doesn't ever feel like anything when I'm cutting myself. At least physically anyway. Emotionally, I find myself emptying out as if the emotion is leaving my body in the form of blood, although I'm well aware it doesn't work like that. I cut my tongue on a sharp edge of a tooth. It only hightens the memory. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. How do I know that I've not gone beyond the verge of frenzy? Panic floods me and I would give anything to escape, but then I realise that there is only one true escape. But maybe we'll talk more about that later. This past week I truly have started to come unglued, maybe I'm still coming unglued. That's the funny thing about mental health. You don't really know if you're losing your mind, until you've lost it. And then its questionable at best if you're ever going to be the same again. I've noticed that with each breakdown, throughout the years, I've lost parts of myself. I'm different after every single time. I feel horrendously trapped in all the same ways. Pressure beating down on me until I physically begin to hurt. What kind of way is that to live? Shame and humiliation at the idea that I wasn't living up to standards, mainly my own standards, sent me over the edge. I think I was already well on my way to falling apart after last month. The last three weeks have been a blur to me. Ups and downs of mood. Heavily suicidal thoughts. Self-induced vomiting. Cutting. Self-Hitting and what possibly could be even worse than all of that put together, I quit my job. I don't really know what prompeted me to have the balls to stand up for myself in that kind of way. In doing so, I opened up a whole new can of anxiety that I haven't had to deal with in years. My panic washes over me, a numbess starting in my feet and working my way up as soon as I get home. I want to scream. I should go back there, get my keys back and apologise. No, No, Dan you can't be weak. You know the kind of shit that was going on there. What do you really miss? The job security? Well yes, the pandemic changed the way I look at work, careers and life in general. I was lucky to have been an essential worker and was able to work full time throughout the pandemic, even earning a promotion after working myself to the absoulute limits. And what did I do? I pushed myself even further. Trading even more little pieces of my soul to be able to wake up in the morning to go to work. It got me nothing in the end. All working there did was open up new wounds, find new ways to sneak into the corner of my soul, strip me of my self-confidence and devalued me as a person. I made a few good friends there and that's about all. Working there shamed me. If anything, it made me feel more ashamed for who I was. My former boss wasn't the kindest to me. He didn't see any value in me as a person, just something he could further belittle and bully. It's no surprise that after everything, cleaning up messes, dealing with assholes, dealing with that jizz stain Jorge, I just had nothing left in me. I'm scared to leave behind the comfort. The familiarity and the routine. I was there nearly three years. I can't believe it's been that long. I didn't plan on quitting. And I know what drove me to my breaking point. I was given a write up or a saction, whatever you want to call it because I finally defended myself against an empployee who has been harassing me for months to no avail. It was reported. Time after fucking time. And nothing happened until I finally lost my patience. Chuckles of course, in his biogted ways, sided with the cock stain and told me that I was out of line with the way I talked to him. Excuse me? What about the side way you talk to me? About other employees. Why was one employee allowed to have a shouting match with you and nothing happens to him? You just wanted to punish me. Make me feel even worse than I already do. He knew about the suicide attempt last month. Me spending some time away to get the medical care that I needed. And now this? It's pretty obvious that you don't like me. You pretty much took an instant dislike to me. Maybe it's the queer thing, maybe it's my vibe. I don't know. Maybe it was a manic outburst that brought me to see stars or just all of the ways that I'd been disrespected there and that was just the final straw? I guess it was his way of getting me to leave even if he couldn't honestly fire me.