Johannesburg, South Africa

Extracts from my journal: When death seems easier 

Extracts from my journal: When death seems easier 

If I had the chance to choose between life or death what would I choose? Would I choose life, because of all its beauty or would I choose death because it’s the only thing that seems consistent? Consistent in the sense that once your time on this earth comes to an end, that’s it. There’s no more feeling, dealing or fighting. There’s no more blood pumping to your heart and no more emotions being triggered from your brain. It’s hard. It’s hard doing this life thing, because I unfortunately have the kind of open heart, that leaves room for people to take advantage of. It’s like, I’ve been living in a world of nothing but darkness, and all I’ve seen is how my soul has been consumed. This can’t be life. To feel like the world would function better without your very existence. To question every part of you because of how much self doubt has been thrown into your blood stream, all because you chose to give other people a chance. A chance to teach you, to learn from you, to hear you and to care. All the women in me are exhausted: exhausted to the point where being at the frontline suddenly seems like the easiest way to make it all go away.

Being taken advantage of tips out such massive parts of your soul, that you’d trade anything to not feel. It rips at the very fiber of your being and drowns you in pain. That’s what it’s been like this year: consistently having to try and move myself 30,000 feet in the midst of the ocean, during the middle of a raging storm. 

It’s like no matter how many moments of happiness have transpired, nothing has actually transformed. There’s a hollowness that’s eating away at me and I believe it is due to all the toxic spaces and people I’ve had around me.

This is loneliness. Not the loneliness that needs other people to remind you that you’ll be okay, but the kind of loneliness that makes you question why your Father would allow you to keep existing in a space where you are slowly dying inside. This is depression: the kind of depression that makes you wonder why you’re still on this earth, when pain is all you know.
I’m hollow. I’ve felt every violation known to a human being and watched the manifestation of it, take its toll on me physically. I’ve disappeared. Gone from a woman filled with joy and happiness, to just skin and bones, drained of all life.
I wish I never let them into my space, it hurts. It hurts to a point where I understand what it feels like to blow your own mind out. When people push you from every angle and won’t even give you some time to just, recover.

If I could change one thing about my life what would it be? That I could swap places with my dad, and I’d be the one walking beside them, proudly beaming seeing how happy they are.

The depression and anxiety is too much. It’s too much for 1.55m, 37kg me. It’s consuming me and I don’t have the energy to fight, because all the women in me are completely drained now. We’ve stood at the frontline experiencing every sort of pain known to man, but now we are tired.
I wish I was laying here, wrists drenched in the blood red from the pain that’s been my emergency, eyes slowly rolling into the back of my head, and breath slowly fading from my physical being. Maybe, just maybe life wasn’t meant for me. 

But I believe that death is

** S/O to @kidnoble and @Luc_Lang for supporting me in publishing this. This is just part of what was written in my diary in November 2016. 

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