I bought a pack of cigarettes

I bought a pack of cigarettes. I had my last cigarette two months before, then September 21, that one crazy night. I used to smoke in the summers, on the long walk back from work, or watching the stars from the balcony. I was broken then.

I am broken now.

My brother tells me, don't smoke, it's stupid. Here, make yourself some tea. Get some sleep, you look like you need it. And he does not say that in a cruel way, but a concerned way. I came home this weekend, to a brother who wanted the house to himself, but sorry, I selfishly, yet critically, needed to get out of the city, and he let me come home. He's three years younger than me, and understands the world far better.

I bought the cigarettes after writing my midterm. It was the easiest midterm I've ever seen, open book as usual, but a quarter of the questions were exactly from the assignments we could bring in. Easy, simple, great. Even on the difficult tests, I haven't walked away with a mark less than a 90. Today I blanked. Even with the duplicated question, it was like they were in two separate languages. I read the stats, the questions, and the words were there, but I couldn't interpret them. Usually I know how to do the questions, and I usually understand them. Today, I knew nothing. I have good feelings about my tests, I usually know where I place within five percent or so, based on my judgement. I feel like I failed that one, not a lie, not an exaggeration.

It started before. After studying last night, I sat at my table, and this incredible sadness swept over me. I am almost twenty. To most that sounds young, and of course it is, but like on my midterm, that number does not get interpreted accurately in my mind. Twenty, no more teenage years, time for the real world.

It's almost been two years since I was literally serious about killing myself. As that anniversary approaches, it makes me ponder on life even more than usual. And on my added years. Last night I thought, what has been worth living for these extra two years? My reply was, nothing.

This haunts me. I have not travelled anywhere significant since I was 17. I have not had a serious relationship. I have not written anything significant or profound since that time. I have not become a better person. I have no direction in my life.

And so. I could light a cigarette. Down a bottle of vodka. Write letters to my loved ones. Go through with the voices & the plans that are still in the back of my mind everyday.

Or, I could put down my cigarette. Make myself a cup of tea. Open up to my loved ones, not about darkness, but about life, and listening to them. And the voices, they won't go away, but maybe I can dim them, add more collected ones.

And I could do the things I have not done yet. I  could put away money this summer for a trip at the end of it. Let my heart be open to others, rather than close people out. Write and read and paint about my experiences. Listen to people, and to myself. And get through the day, in the direction of living rather than destroying my self.

The thing is, I've been trying these last two paragraphs for the last few weeks. This vegan thing, eating enough, sleeping as much as I can. It is fucking hard. My mind wants to starve, or binge, it's used to that. My head wants me to stay awake. My violent self wants to destroy. I walk across the street, not knowing whether or not I/she is going to throw me in front of a bus. I wake up smiling & return at night with despair. My emotions are every where. But I will not surrender to the dark ones. I will fight for happiness, because although it is fleeting, it is still there. These last two paragraphs are life and demonstrate what is important to me. They are the things that will save me.

I began this post, unsure of what I would choose. The cigarettes or not, and everything that goes with each. And through writing to you all, I chose the second. Thanks for listening. Stay strong this weekend ladies! You are all too beautiful :)