The inner urge to write is nothing more than a false output of everything inside of me wanting to scream out loud to certain persons in particular. Those I love the most. My uncertainty of my own being makes me insecure of my own relationships to others; I'm never sure who can handle what's inside of me and it's eating me. So, I choose to write it down and let everyone reading decide for themselves what to do with it.
My current state of mind is full of doubt and I tend to not be honest to a lot of people, just because I'm not able to understand anyone's thoughts anymore. When you lose this very emotional binding with the people you love most, is there anything left to do? What could I do? I know it's all depending on me, if I do not share my thoughts, emotions, lust, aggression, fears and doubts, no one will be there to help me.
I know, everyone's busy with their own lives, and those lives naturally are worth more than what I'm in. The island I'm on seems to be inaccessible to anyone except me and maybe my psychologist. But then again, she's also only there because I pay her to hear me over. Whenever I tend to have found someone who is ready to take care of me, something goes terribly wrong. We get too close to eachother and instead of helping eachother we destruct eachother. Not the path which should be used. My wife, of course, she's there for me, but she has so much on hands, so much OUTSIDE of my own battle, that she simply lacks energy. It's not even something I could blame her for. With two kids life is difficult enough, and with a husband who is on world's most tremendous rollercoaster, always switching from bright positive mood to the darkest passages in human's mind life doesn't get any easier.
She chose to hide away from my struggle and wait it out. It's just a question of time. But time doesn't make it easier, not without anyone to share the immense load on my shoulders.
My two kids, they make life bright, the honest and unconditional love they show me as their daddy, it surely is the only thing I can hang on to now. But it seems to not be enough. Simply because I might be there physically for them, but mentally I'm a goddamn wreck, a battleship floating towards the bottom of the ocean, rotting all the way along.
I'm strong, and apparently, I'm healing from this disease - at least that's what men tries to convince me of. But I just don't feel that way. I only feel that I'm losing everyone, everyone is so far away from me, a unbridgeable distance from safe shore to my island, an island where volcanoes are erupting by the day and where tide chokes you every night on and on.
To anyone who hears me, here's my thought: I'm still here, I'm fighting but I'm losing. There is no more strength, batteries are down, fear and guiltiness got a hold of me, strangling me. The worst part is that I have no clue anymore what to do, except for doing the same my wife does: waiting it all out. But for how long? How long is mankind to bear this? Not a day goes by when not thinking about ending it all. Do you have any clue what depression is? I'm not going to end it all, my kids would never forgive, but I need your help. Your help, reader, because it's killing me. And if you have no idea how you could possibly help, then most probably you can't. Now worries on that, I wouldn't know what to do neither.
