The Rope in Every day scata

Every morning when I get up. I take my shower, then take my mask that is hanging in the bathroom and slip it on. I come out with a smile, ready for everyone to see that I’m happy.

I couldn’t make myself wear the mask today. I’ve been holding on to this rope for months now. Pretending that I’m dealing with this shit. No job? No problem I have plenty to do. Money? Who needs money? I’ll just run up my credit card and worry about how the fuck I’m going to pay it later. The constant pain that I am in due to my fibro? Eh not a big deal. I can keep cleaning and cooking right through that shit. The back pain that brings me to my knees? I’ll just crawl over to the stove to get the job done. I don’t need to go see the doctor about it. I’LL BE JUST FUCKING FINE.

I just can’t do it anymore. I cannot pretend I’m ok. I can’t always be “up” for everyone. I can’t stuff my feelings down. I just can’t do it anymore.

I want a drink. I want a drink so fucking bad right now. ANYTHING to kill the physical and mental pain that I am in right now. I want a cigarette. I want the TASTE of it. Not this vaping shit. I want to feel the smoke burn my throat.

I did falter on the cutting. It is the only thing I CAN do without causing harm to anyone else. And it’s free.

I can’t hold on to this rope. I want to let go so badly. Even when I’ve been locked up because of my “mental health” I could still hang on. I could function well enough to get my ass out of there.

I just want to take my HS meds, crawl under the covers and not come out for days.