The Cage of Silence

Content note: This entry discusses emotional overwhelm and suicidal ideation.

Sometimes my head is so empty, but so heavy.

With the thoughts of others, with the plans of others, with the emotions of others, there is always another person, never just me.

I do not know how to be when it is just me, and it crushes my soul. It makes me feel pitiful, like the world I created was never created for me. It was created for others to enjoy me, use me, throw me away, throw me around, stretch me to my ends.

I am so tired, but I do not know how to end this spinning cycle I am trapped in.

I created it. I created my own cage. I created my own destiny. It was me.

But why would I choose this?

I understand taking responsibility. I understand taking on guilt. I understand looking at myself before blaming others.

I do not want to fix it anymore. I want to let it all fall to the floor, shattering, scrambling, scattering.

The things I held so high, so heavily, in hopes that one day there would be others that held what I needed. But there never was.

Maybe other people are born with the ability to look out for themselves. Maybe it is forged. I do not know how that feels. I do not know how to do that without it all crushing me.

How do I look out for myself when so many others have so much to lose?

I know that knowing I am the problem does not fix it. And I do not know how to fix it because I do not think I created the problem.

I guess that is not taking responsibility, is it?

Saying it was not me who created the problem. Just another person I am trying to pawn my issues onto.

I am so tired. I do not want to live, but I do not want to die.

The options presented are never the best, so I scream. I imagine being surrounded by water, sinking deeply, letting out what would be a piercing scream.

And I scream.

And I scream.

And I scream.

Until there is nothing left in me, an empty shell of who I used to be.

But I guess I took care of that without any of the screaming.

I made a cage of my silence where I stay awake, banging from the inside to let me out. I promise I will not mess up again. I promise I will do better. I promise I will fix it.

And yet I stay silent.

Because no matter what I say, I know the truth: I cannot fix it. I will mess up again. It will be my fault.

There is no better. There is just me.

Now, here.

Which me will that be?