Taking notes for my paper.

4.48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane

It’s going to make him so angry. But I’m going to cut to gut anyway. I’m so done. If I were stronger I’d just end it all, but they love me too much and that would only make me more of a burden to the very end.
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I just feel so worthless and alone. I try so hard, and yet I am still a failure. I’m going back to campus with one last semester of undergrad before I move away for grad school ( if I even get in), and all I care about is hiding myself away and starving into nothingness.
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I don’t deserve anything more.

Yes.
You mustn’t say that.
But I do.
Don’t say it. It’s a bad thing to say.
I can’t help it.
I know. But you have to.
How do I do it?
…I don’t know.”

I’ve just felt very lost, and exceptionally unimportant and burdensome. I’m broken and yet not nearly broken enough and I’m sick of paradoxes.

Update to come soon.

So tired. So scared.

So nothing.

Thanks, doc, for filling me in.

I have no idea why we have to be this way. Or what the means of success are living it. But I think, just as I mourn the end of my life a bit more each day, I’m starting to see more beauty in it. Beauty that I couldn’t see before all of this. The beauty that my life isn’t permanent. I don’t always have to be here. And I can paint myself a beautiful picture before I leave. Death isn’t a dark and sad end; it is an elegant fall.

I sort of see it. I’m finally this beautiful, sleek, fragile dancer with the bones of a bird just standing at the top of my strength. And I can take a deep breath, see everything that has come before me, and know that I loved it. With every fibre of my being, I loved it. I’m crying and my heart is pounding just thinking of everything it did for me, that life and the people in it. And I can know that it loved me. And finally knowing all those things I wouldn’t have to be strong or perfect any more, because I had dedicated myself to this final and beautiful end and I have achieved it. I am empty and hollow.

And I can just fall.

every single day

(Source: itusuallygoes, via lovelovelove317)

(Source: attentionsuicide, via shesinlovewithalice)

But I will never stop. I can’t. I have to keep going even if it kills me… and honestly that’s been the aim of a lot of things I do any more anyway.

I’m such a fucking failure. I will stop failure by winning this or I will stop failure by dying trying to.

I’m deteriorating. But strong.

There is no other option.

in medias res
we wish to be dead-hollow,
bird boned and deep sinking
into the aches of living