I’ll keep my pen inking, for I don’t know how long I have. My days get darker. My evenings swollen in silence of my room have turned to be my ‘hell’. I however choose to live my today.
How do I tell how I feel, when I myself don’t know how I feel? How do I seek help, when I have no idea what to say? I feel empty today. But yesterday was a fun day. I keep trolling through my thoughts, but I seem to get nowhere. I tried to speak to myself, but I feel like am making it all up.
Am a Nurse, don’t be surprised, but barely can I find myself. Tried to make my days better with meds, but can’t do this for life. Am trying, yes I am. Am hopeful to see my night with no urge to cut. Am hopeful to sail into dreams without an urge to hurt my arm again.
I can barely be the psychosocial supporter to my clients and friends. Little do I wanna get to hear from them. I feel incompetent to handle a client. I feel weak to give a shoulder.
But I live on hope. Hopeful that tomorrow I’ll wake up a better nurse. That tomorrow I will smile again and not want to look back. I hope I will. Am hopeful one day I will appreciate my diagnosis. That from then I’ll fight a known disorder and not myself again. I hope.