Skhy Cressell

Rookie (3.05.1990 / JC)

Waking Up Asleep But Alive - Poem by Skhy Cressell

I woke up feeling nothing; like I usually do. My anxiety seems to grow as the morning, or in my case- whenever I wake up, wears off. I grow scared of everything, most importantly scared of living, with each passing hour. It’s a torturous cycle that has brought me to my suicidal knees and has left me broken, knelt before my own self- my worst enemy.

Today, although started off the same, quickly changed and I have been suddenly plunged into a feeling of intense fear. If I were to compare this nothingness to the routine nothing that I feel each morning- their contrasts are all that they have in common. One is a light, empty feeling- no worries, fears or stressors. The other is more complex. With layers of emotions- a sense of hopelessness that makes it hard to breath, an hours’ worth of sadness crammed into five-minute spurts and a fear of dying because the nothingness has left me brain dead and there’s nothing left to do but pull the plug- these layers constantly rotating like shifts at a twenty-four hour Wal-Mart or, if I may use the following reference instead, at a 7-11 from the wondrous Japan.

I hate this. A pill eases it and another may even put a smile on my face if I’m lucky enough, but at what cost? It’s just a pill making me feel like it’s OK to keep living, not me actually believing it. Meaning if there is no pill, and there is many, many, many times of that, then there is no desire to continue. My bipolar disorder rapidly recreates me, and it’s as if I’m wearing blinders, cause it’s always a surprise when the layers of nothingness suddenly becomes all that I am. For so long I have wanted to scream but I hold it in and cover it up with wall of aggression. My anger comes from my frustration, my frustration is from my anxiety and my anxiety is the manifestation of my masochist cycle that has spread like a chronic disease- a birth defect.

I was born defected. Why didn’t the doctors see that? I could have been spared [aborted] if only my mother wasn’t such a passionate person, crazy and just as fucked up as me, but passionate none-the-less. I like to think that my mother had such a big heart that she had no choice but to give birth and pass along some of that big heart and I just happened to inherit her internal pain as well. Sadly it is more like that she too, from her own internal pain, needed a reason to feel like continuing to live is OK. That is something I can fully understand and relate to. However; one day one of us is going to die and then what is left for the survivor? What will the victim, most likely to be me, have to endure while all alone?

I try to tell myself that dwelling on questions and feelings like the ones above does nothing but cause pain and is a waste of life time, but I can never seem to stop myself and I become obsessed, engrossed in it all.

Swallowed whole by hurt that takes the form of a serpent locked inside a cage- my mind has shifted into that cage and my emotions mutate into mice trapped inside as well. They say a snake first kills its prey quickly before consuming them, but my snake is ravenous so that becomes irrelevant and death is slow. Simultaneously, I experience the onslaught of an overwhelming sense of drowning. My head presses upwards against the surface that offers a deep breath of contentment, but my lips and nose cannot break it and my lungs are filling with liquid pain- smothering.

Everything is just too much. I feel like my expiration date is coming up, and it scares me so much like it should, but I can’t help but feel relieved at the idea of finally being able to relax and just let go. What would be gained, other than the pain and suffering of the people that somehow love me, from giving up and punking out on life?

There is a saying that goes, “If living was easy then everyone would do it.” It’s that statement, that ideal, that I might not just be the only one going through this destructive and horrible thing. That eases and saddens my heart at the same time, but at least it stimulates my heart, my mind… me. It reminds me that I am still alive and as long as I’m alive then I have a fighting chance.

I’m alive but sleeping. Dreaming- nightmares actually.

I want to wake up because…

I’m alive.

Monday, April 07,2008
12: 05 PM

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 15, 2009

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