More from the Underground in The Road Ahead

I don’t know if it crept back in on its own or if it was merely softened to such a volume as to be present but unaccounted for, but that under current of suicidal murmuring is back and I hate it. I gave in to it when I was younger, truly believing I wouldn’t be around for any of this, but here I am, much to (my?) chagrin.

It’s like taking a silk wrapped punch to the stomach every time I pay it any attention at all. It’s smooth with soft edges but still barrels into me with the weight of an emotional freight train and I’m left breathless and teary eyed, wondering if I should stop putting off what has seemed inevitable for more than half of my life.

I don’t feel like I belong here. I never have, I’ve always been the lone wolf standing at the far edges, closest to the exit. I’ve always had an escape plan, part of the PTSD and trauma. I like my back to a wall with eyes on a clear path to the exit, whether that’s physically or mentally. I need to take better care of myself, in a lot of ways. I’m tired of social media and want to just shut it all down, but it’s really my only way of connecting with anyone and isolation is a fertile breeding ground for my depression and vice versa.

I never learned about self worth, it didn’t mean anything for a long time and didn’t seem to be worth the effort to understand. So I struggle with why I’m here and what my point is. I’m trying to love myself, but I feel disgusted and ashamed of myself and where I’m at. I need to have a long, ugly face cry session, but it’s hard when I keep my emotional armor on.

I feel like I’m haunting my own life.