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Vide Noir
~ Lord Huron
Snow
What is grief? Most people have their own definition of this feeling. Nevertheless, the first thing that comes to mind is emotional pain and despair, loss and fear. For me, grief has always been like a black hole. A hole that I still haven't gotten over after all these years. An all-consuming monster, one of those monsters that mom or dad can't just chase out of your closet. Grief is a damn abyss that threatens to plunge you into the depths, some people also call grief the path to mental recovery. You have to feel and allow grief to make you feel better, that's bullshit. But when you've lost everyone you loved, who's going to pull you away from that abyss? Who's going to stop you from falling and drowning in that pain and loneliness. There's no one left, no one to stop this darkness, this incredible emptiness in my heart that threatens to swallow me up. I've thought a lot about death, how it would feel to drown in that sea of ​​black. To surrender to the pain, to let it consume me. To disappear from this world. I don't know what keeps stopping me from doing it, but every damn time. When I'm about to end my life for good. Something stops me, a little voice in my head. That screams at me to stop, that things will get better someday. But in all the years since I lost them all. Every single day is pure hell for me, I can't forget it or get over it. Not after everything I've been through. I should have needed help years ago, but nobody saw it. Nobody saw how badly I required help. And now, after all these years, I want... No, I can't ask for help. I have to conquer my demons alone and face them myself. No matter how hard it is, no matter how loudly they scream. The only one who really knows what's going on inside me is my cousin, who is now thousands of miles away from me, in another state. He's the only one who knows my demons. He made this shitty freak show in my head bearable, Nathaniel, who should actually be fighting his own demons. But that's exactly why he knows how close I am to the abyss. Because he knows this abyss himself. He knows that sometimes it doesn't take much for me to want to disappear forever. Nath was my safe haven in the years after my family died, and he's the only one who knows. That I was an addict and what I'm into, but with him, I'm not ashamed of it. And even when his father sent me to boarding school to get rid of me, Nathaniel and I stayed in touch and supported each other.
And at this boarding school I was alone again. Alone with myself and my dark thoughts that keep seeping through my head like viscous syrup. And leave a bittersweet aftertaste, an aftertaste that never completely disappears. No matter how often you rinse your mouth, it remains. Without the phone calls with Nath I would probably have gone mad. He was always, to a certain extent, the voice of reason, my conscience. Like Jiminy Cricket to Pinocchio, only Nath is not a cricket. Although the idea would be funny. And Nathaniel is usually right, I realized that when I didn't listen to what he said. And I got into a scene that destroys people mentally and physically. Although I'm not so sure anymore how I got there in the first place. But it was the only thing that freed my head for a few hours. It stopped me thinking about what I had lost. So I put on a brave face and threw myself headfirst into this life, was it healthy or sensible? No, it was anything but sensible or healthy, but it took away the emptiness. I didn't care how self-destructive it was, because it just didn't count at the time. For the me I was at that time, it just didn't matter, because deep down I wanted to die. And that scene usually leads to death. Because once you're in that scene, that quicksand doesn't let you go, you sink. And the deeper you sink, the longer that scene fucks your head, the less you care what happens to you, until at some point it ends with a big bang. I sank. I surrendered to the illusion that drugs gave me. And for a few hours everything was fine, everything was normal. I was normal, in that illusion I didn't lose my parents. I didn't see my brother die, and I wasn't a damn wreck, but every illusion comes to an end. I enjoyed the pain it brought, every last drop of it. I always thought I was a strong person. With an even stronger will that cannot be broken. But in reality, I am weak, I am broken by it. My heart broke from pain, loneliness, and emptiness. And putting something broken back together without losing a few pieces is impossible. And I have lost pieces of myself, important pieces. Fragments of my personality that are gone forever. I built a wall around my heart and vowed never to let anyone get too close to that broken thing in my chest. To never love again. Not when I know how far I can fall and how quickly I can crash to earth. When I look in the mirror, I see the same face as before. But I know that I am not the same. My younger self would be ashamed of me. If my parents saw me, they would turn in their graves.