A walk next to myself

Warnung: Schlechtes Englisch, negatives Zeugs, armer JJ.
Ich wünsche ihm, dass er bald rausfinden darf welche Seite die richtige ist,
und dieser Seiltanz zwischen Wahnsinn und Wahnsinn ein Ende haben darf.

Ich wünsche es ihm von Herzen.

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Step.

One step towards a home that wasn’t quite a home.

Step.

One step towards a family that wasn’t quite a family,
save for his siblings whom he’d grown to love over the last few years.

Step.

One step towards a laptop-screen staring blindly into the darkness of his room, blinds shut, curtains drawn. A laptop-screen radiating a vapid promise that it was alright.

Step.

One step closer to the messy room on the second floor, reminding everyone and himself of how he wasn’t even capable of tidying up.
He brought his hand to his hair, ruffling it, feeling the shaved parts of his undercut. Almost caressing it, ignoring the greasy feeling left at his palm. Ignoring the thought about how everything on him practically screamed “neglect”, because he couldn’t bring himself to shower or chance his clothes or do anything in that direction at all.

Step.

One step towards empty talks and calls through staring chat windows, not giving away even the least bit of warmth or the feeling of being save at all.
He was just oh so tired from talking to all these people whom he really loved but nevertheless couldn’t be honest to. He feared being called selfish, he feared that they’d confirm all the things this voice in his head liked to repeat all day long. He feared talking to much about himself and end up being hated for not listening at all. He feared being hated. He feared being left alone.
He feared that in reality, the voice was right and the people telling him to fight it just tried to be nice.
He feared, he feared, he feared.
It left him with a chest to tight to breath properly, with hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into his palm, desperately craving for the feeling of easing pain.

Step.

But then again, he wasn’t supposed to give in to this easiness, was he?
Because it was what bad people did, people with no self-control, people with problems, real problems, not his half-assed excuse of distress over words and voices in his head which told him nothing but the truth.

Step.

How worthless he was, not able to do anything at all.
Not able to properly love his partner, his boyfriend. Cold, steely weights suddenly appeared in his stomach and he felt like he’d be sick. Not able to give love, not even able to do the simplest thing on earth, just love the one giving him everything he could ever wish for.
He was selfish after all, was he?
Selfish and mean and a bad person because he received so much love, yet he couldn’t bring himself to love back, to give back.
Couldn’t bring himself to love his partner more than anyone else like he was supposed to.
Every “darling”, every “I love you” biting into his mind and soul, poisoning his being with the unbearable burden of love.

Step.

A car passed by on his right side, just a flash of colours and noises, gone as fast as it had been coming.
The wind sweeping through his hair, playing with a few short strands before leaving as if he never had been there in the first place.
He though how nice it’d be to just vanish with the wind. Not being a burden to anyone, not being at all. Maybe, if a car just was fast enough, it could take him with it.
Maybe, just one step?

He dragged his feet along the pavement, eyes closed. Of course he wasn’t brave enough to misplace even one step.
Just one step separated him and the world from release, the release of his existence.
Maybe he wouldn’t even die but that was okay.
At least it would hurt and he’d suffer. Couldn’t be as bad as what he was going through right now, could it?
At least, his boyfriend could leave him with a good feeling, no longer tied to someone not able to love him the way he deserved.
At least, his friends could move on with their life without the burden of his way too dark presence lingering in the corner of their eyes.

Step.

As he thought about all this, a burning desire rose in his chest, a desire to leave everything behind.
A desire to hurt so bad he couldn’t feel the hurting of his soul anymore. The desire to cease existing.

Step.

Just one step away from the save sidewalk onto the street, it was just one mere step to take.
A step towards freedom of his thoughts.
Maybe he already was free, not restricted by laws or governments, free to think and feel whatever he liked.
But in his case, being free just meant that he was lost.
Because he didn’t knew what to think, what to feel, what to-

Step.

He hated his feet for betraying him and still walk towards nothing he wanted to go back to.

Step.

He hated himself for being what he was.

Step.

He hated the cars passing by for mocking him and screaming in his face how weak he was.

Step.

He hated himself for thinking like this. There was always a solution, wasn’t there?
He just had to look hard enough and endure this.

But how?

How could he endure the desperate attempts to hide his needs he never asked for.
Shameful moments in a dark room, just himself and his needs and oh god he was so so disgusting.
He wasn’t allowed to be like this, it was wrong in every way he could think of.
It didn’t even gave him pleasure, it just was plain rotten and he hated himself for being so weak that he had to give in to such a dirty thing.

Step.

His hands were trembling and he didn’t knew if it was because of the cold or because of his racing heart.

Step.

Why did he wear that coat he’d got from two friends of his?
He wasn’t allowed to wear something so drenched in love and care.
He wasn’t allowed to feel warm and cosy.

Step.

Why did he ate from that lasagna his sibling had made the other day?
He wasn’t allowed to feed himself.
He wasn’t allowed to profane something made by a decent human being.
He wasn’t allowed to eat anything at all, regarding how fat and disgusting he was, regarding how undisciplined he was.
He felt the heath of shame rise in his body as he thought about how disgusting he was.

Step.

He was not allowed to eat or drink or feel warm and save or have money or friends or feel loved at all.
He was not allowed.
Because if he did these things, he’d be undisciplined, he’d be a waste, disgusting and not decent.

The sudden urge to skin himself alive hit him like an approaching truck and he clenched his teeth, hopefully he’d get a headache from it.

He wasn’t good enough of a person to be allowed to feel and act like one, but nevertheless he always did and it was so wrong. Just because, sometimes, he felt like all this bad things were wrong and he had to go and try fighting against these demons.
But he was these demons, wasn’t he?
The materialized form of what he truly was.

Step.

Fight or not, he didn’t know what to do.
Because he couldn’t trust his own awareness, living in this banana matrix of his.
He couldn’t trust this voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t worth anything at all, but he couldn’t trust all those people who told him he was great as well.
There was nothing he could rely on and it drove him crazy.

Step.

Being a failure and a waste of space and never enough, expect in width and noise and talk, there he was always too much.
Being all of this meant punish himself him pain and telling himself everyday just how worthless he was, so he would never ignore his boundaries.
Punish himself and forbidding himself to satisfy his human need was strong and brave and the right thing to do.

Step.

Knowing his demons and trying not to listen to them meant carry on with his life, trying to learn more about himself and how he could take care of himself better.
Doing this meant being strong and brave and was the right thing to do.

Step.

BUT HE WAS WORTLESS AND DESERVED PUNISHMENT.

Step.

No. No, that wasn’t true. That wasn’t the right thing to do.
He had to be strong and not give in to these voices.

Step.

But he deserved to suffer; it was payback to all the times his friends had suffered.

If he didn’t hurt himself and stopped eating and sleeping and taking care of him he was weak and had no discipline.
And having no discipline was bad.

Step.

There was no end to this.
He didn’t knew whom to trust, he didn’t knew a single thing.
They always told him to listen to himself more, didn't they?
And if he listened to himseld, it was clear as a day that he was a failure.
But they told him too, that he shouldn't listen to this thoughts.
He didn't knew what to believe, what was the right thing to do.

He just didn’t knew.