"I don't know how much longer I can do this", I think to myself for the tenth time that day. It's only morning and nothing bad has happened, yet the thought keeps repeating in my head, with no plans to leave.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this". Violent images flash through my brain, unprompted. Pain, anger and despair, I stare at our knives as I do the dishes and see them digging into skin, my own skin, cutting, stabbing, until my own mother finds me, horrified, as I lie in a pool of my own blood, crying and screaming. I wash away the soap and put the knives away, I could never do that to her. I don't want to. I'm haunted by the fear that someday I might.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this." I smile to my therapist at the end of our session as I hang up the call. We talked about my week, I feel better for a moment. I'm making progress, small steps. It's been a decade. How many more small steps until I get somewhere? My anxiety continues to paralyze me, my life has been on hold, a VHS that was paused and forgotten about, cursed to never go forward, never reach a conclusion.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this". I wake up at 5am to the sound of gunshots, is it rival gangs or a police operation? Physically I know I'm safe and that's all I could ask for. I should be thankful. I wait for the day a stray bullet finds me. There's gunshots again that night.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this."I try to ask my psychiatrist a question and she brushes me aside, says I'm just shy and won't even hear my request. I quietly let her ignore me again. She's in a rush again, despite being the one who arrives late everytime. Another prescription, no time to talk, no time to see, I'm just another name on today's list. I can't afford to find a new doctor.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this." Another day passes. Another week. Month. Year. I question my strength every step of the way, but I keep going. I don't see a future for me, but I keep going. I'm sure things will never get better, but I keep going.
I stare at knives, lost in thought, but I keep going.
I question if therapy is really helping me, but I keep going.
Gunshots ring out, not too far away, and I panic again, but I keep going.
I'm invisible to the doctor that should be helping me though this, but I keep going.
I kept going for too long, I can't stop now, even if there's nothing to gain.
I don't know how much longer I can do this.