Don’t Die Sian

“I told her once I wasn’t good at anything. She told me survival is a talent.”
― Susanna KaysenGirl, Interrupted

within the whirlwind of starving days, sanity breaking nights and Years of white noise, there comes a certain, stamina; not one to be proud of , not one to hope for; a state of Being among the debris despite the pain, despite the Fears, in rebellion to all things Sense.  It offers a tainted choice – one can refuse to try but refuse to admit defeat , instead chose to curl up with in the womb of the beast and drink the sacrificial bloods. physical lethargy becomes rhythmic, mental disharmony the soundtrack – the choice is one that sends the patient down a road that travels not. Its static. and it offers no way out. it bridges nothing – we feel the tracks of passing life sealed over our tongues. we live among the exhaust smoke, left longing for the speed of which we are forgotten.

survival is said to be admiral. as Susana Kayson’s therapist told her – even a talent. True – survival consumes everything, is everything, and shadows out anything else there is to touch. It might be a talent, and people might applaud the will to stay alive.

But …. survival has taken lives. Its taken a large slot of mine, and threatens to steal more away as the waves crash harder each day. when I am surviving , i am not living. Those lucky ones whom live … they don’t need to survive, their breaths of ear and whispers of sanity will keep them afloat, and in the face of tragedy, survival as a state will remain temporary.

To my fellow Survivors, the one’s like myself whom are condemned to a life learning  how to hold on; a life where survival is all there is Hope for. I shed a tear for you, and I Hope indeed, if nothing more, you can find a way out of survival – and learn how to … Live.

Sian Alexia

This manic world

So this time of my life has lost all baring on sanity and expectation. Insane and unexpected. That is the Now.

How did I get here ?

When I left school, I was so sure I was going to become this super slim university star, straight A’s , post-graduate degree, off to travel and save the world one starving nation at a time. I had the means – the scholarship, the passion, the support – Only one thing let me down.

My health. My mental illness, it stole those dreams.

No. that’s wrong. I single-handedly self-destructed in the face of those dreams because I was too scared of the real me – the girl who would never ever be worthy of Greatness. The girl who will mean nothing but white noise.

I thought those dreams were still possible though. Somehow I would maintain this balance between anorexic haze and super-successful in the face of all my doubters. ‘Maybe I’ve changed’. ‘Maybe I’m not Her anymore.’

No.

 

I’m ‘all of a sudden’ 24 years old with a 13 month old child, and ….

No.

Yes.

Really; that’s me now. No inpatient dorm room. No university dorm room. No aeroplane to the Africa’s. No photographs with black hats and scrolls. No self-awarded gratification for starvation that feels like air. No.

 

I want all that. Some of it unsavoury, some Bitter. I want all that.

I wanted to be so different from everyone else that I had magazine articles written about me. I wanted doctors to study me long and hard and find me intriguing. I wanted to reach out and make the lives of the less fortunate better, even so slight as to bring them back to water. I wanted to be the thinnest girl anyone had ever seen and still be alive, successful, enigmatic. I wanted people towonder about me and think I was crazy but beautiful; Too thin but stunning in her own right.

I wanted that so bad. I want that so bad. So bad that when I think about it I forget about everything else and see only that golden chalice. Begging me to Win. I forget family; forget responsibility. I forget hospitals and failures and cages and ropes that bind. I forget it all and I imagine the supreme satisfaction that could have been mine. Must be mine, If I am to survive this ….. Manic world.