be softer with yourself. || 2/7 my yellow paint.
i got lost in the suffocating fog,
a cycle where theses senses robbed me of the ability to discern if my
self-harm was feeding these senses, keeping them going,
or if these senses were feeding my self-harm, keeping it going.
if my self-harm was fueling my exile, my isolation, my emptiness, my sadness, my vulnerability, my pain,
or if all of those things were the ones fueling my self-harm.
at first, i thought that i would wake up the next morning having destroyed all of the pain that i carried with me.
that i would wake up and everything would be okay again.
i woke up the next morning and i had carried the pain with me through the night.
i thought this meant i was my own pain, and therefore stuck.
that i couldn't destroy my pain, because that would mean destroying myself,
but that if i didn't destroy myself and therefore my pain, then i would still end up destroyed and still sunken, shadowed by this pain.
that no matter what i did, i was going to end up in a whirlpool of pain.
it was like flipping a coin with both sides marked heads, stop. hurting., when all i really needed to survive was to flip tails.
i thought that i would wake up and everything would be okay again,
my pain had carried through the night.
everything that had been wrong the night before was still there, weighing down and suffocating me.
i took one look out the window at the dreary outside,
and felt sick to my stomach.
the pathetic fallacies weren't funny anymore.
i looked at the poster on my wall of vincent van gogh,
and i completely understood why he would eat yellow paint to feel happy.
i was desperate enough for some sort of happiness,
that if i had any yellow paint around me,
i would eat it too.
people who saw the poster told me about how he must have been absolutely mad for doing it,
as there couldn't possibly be any direct correlation between
eating toxic paint, and improving one's happiness.
but i was never able to see that side of it.
if you are unhappy enough that even the most insane of ideas seems probable to you,
like painting the walls of your insides yellow because it's the colour of the sun (which of course makes it the happiest),
then you are going to eat the paint, even if it's toxic, and maybe makes no sense in theory.
it's really no different from
falling in love, or taking drugs, or smoking, or drinking.
there is a greater risk of you
getting your heart broken, or overdosing, or getting lung cancer, or alcohol poisoning,
but people still do those things every single day, even though at the end of that day they all die a different death.
once you are in pain, you start to realize why people do it.
they do it because
there is always going to be that chance, no matter how small, that it could make things even a bit better.
but sometimes, that bit isn't enough for you to have the will to go through all of the pain for.
and then you understand why people
fall in love with the wrong person, or overdose (even if it's not on purpose), or smoke or drink themselves to death, or throw themselves off of the roof of buildings.
because this kind of pain offers you no escape.
everyone who has experienced a pain this deep has their yellow paint, so don't you forget it.
self-harm was my yellow paint. - e