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Blow Her to Hell

By Starr Walker

March 4^th, 2017

I never know how to start. I just fumble until I awkwardly stumble in.

I'm sitting here alone in the dark. Which I often do.

Truthfully, I'm not alone, if you count the company of my cancer ridden 11 year old mutt. Her snores have been ringing for hours as they usually do in the evening.

I like being alone. Truly.

I like the quiet. Anything else can be exhausting.

Trivial.

There is no peace for me.

I am haunted by my own existence. Plagued by my thoughts. I wish that I had a place to put them. To sort them. To calm my nerves.

I have rational thoughts. Or at least, maybe I just find a way to rationalize the thoughts. Maybe they aren't rational at all and I just think that they are.

My thoughts swim in the dense fog of my mind.

I find myself googling "paranoia".

I find myself thinking "I need to refresh my drink again".

I think, whats the point of sharing any of this? What should I edit out? What's too real?

Keep. Up. Appearances. That's what was beaten into you.

I can never talk about how terrible things are or can be. How they've been. How it's all led me here. I was never allowed to.

The weight of it all seems as if it will finally break me.

I've been so proud. Fighting it. Forgetting the horrors. The trauma. The ghosts.The isolation.

The camouflage of independence

People say things that seem harmless, but rack me with guilt.

"Things seem like they are great!" / "Can't you enjoy anything?"

The burden of going through the steps. The pretending. I'm exhausted and so very tired of being my own ghost.

The brief fleeting moments of joy reignite my will. But it only ever just flickers.

I'm so very tired.

The dog continues to snore.

& I continue to pour.

Pouring alcohol.

Pouring my incoherent rambles.

I just want to pour until there is nothing left. Drain me. Will I feel better once it's all gone? Rest? Peace?

I want to know it.

There are these lyrics that read: “I will tell you I am fine.I got some news, friend, feels like I’m dying.”

I really hate to be probed. I hate the broad spectrum of "How are you"

A: ... I just need to be.

You don't need to ask me that. I don't want you to.

I know that you know that I am having a rough go of it. If I wanted to talk, you know that I would have. I cope in my own ways.

Respect the process.

...

I want you to distract me.

Ask me anything else.

Don't ask for a status update.

I don't want you to ask me about it. I just want you to know, that I'm broken. Damaged. And don't expect too much from me. I'll give when I can. I'll give deeply and greatly.

When I can, I can be present & give it my all. But sometimes, most of the time, I just need to sort it myself. I want to sort it myself.

I only want to know that you understand this and that you can let me be.

The point of this post?

I want a place to put the horrors.

Without judgement.

Without comment.

But it is not a safe space yet.

Just know that there is a constant struggle. Know that there have been demons only some can fathom. Know that I've fought them and never deserved them. But I constantly feel that I do now. Know that I feel that I'll never know peace. That there will always be a fight.