dark to full

CW: suicide and self harm.

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the moon is at her peak, lighting up the clear sky. i can't see stars from my city apartment, but i know they're there, basking in the glow of their beautiful mother. she is stunning, brilliant, full of mystery and wonder.

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i'm staring up at her because i'm thinking about what it means that i'm still here, alive and breathing and soaking up her light.

surviving suicide is a strange and terrible thing. my mind wanted this little life to be over, but my body wouldn't cooperate. i made a choice, in a horribly dark set of moments, that being nothing was better than beingthis particular something. that leaving the world behind was preferred, that not existing would be a relief. i'm not sure that i really wanted to be dead, but i definitely didn't want to be alive. i wanted to be nothing. i wanted to be empty. i wanted everything to just stop.

but after the horror of the decision, after taking the necessary steps, there was a moment of peace. of quiet. of relief. finally, i could stop fighting. i could just rest. it would all be calm, and dark, and still. i waited, and prayed, and walked into the arms of the darkness.

but then i woke up.

the chilling fury, the utter misery of realizing that i'd failed. the knowledge that i would now have to deal with the consequences of this act, this weakness. the fear that no one would care, that it wouldn't matter, that everything would still be the same. crying on a cold floor, calculating hours lost, recognizing that i'd have to get up eventually and pretend nothing ever happened. do i try again? how long do i wait? it's dizzying, this horror. it's overwhelming.

and yet, i was alive. still. my pulse was slow but steady, my skin tender and sensitive, my breathing shallow. i felt dizzy, strange, not whole - but i was still in this lifetime, under this moon. i had to peel myself off the floor, clean myself up, find a new story to tell.

no one can understand unless you've been through it. unless you've had to wrestle with a gutting decision, a complete failure, another major thing you couldn't accomplish. you can't even do this one thing right. you're not good at living, but you're terrible at dying. it's impossibly big to hold. there's no room for it, no space, but it finds ways to fill you anyway, and then it hollows you out, cracks you open, spills you onto the floor. you felt alone, and you're still alone, and you'll always be alone. we're all alone.

i've done this twice.

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the moon is glorious. her brilliant light, a perfect reflection of the sun she circles, is somehow all her own. she creates her own mystery, her own magic. she brings out our wildness, our terror, our dreams. she's been my companion for both attempts, watching silently, offering little comfort. perhaps she understands how i've felt, how i still feel sometimes.

her phases are part of her beauty. times of darkness, creeping shadows, still and silent and watchful. slow growth, gradually bringing light, until her fullness illuminates, pulls at the oceans and outshines the stars and makes the beasts howl into her night. it gently fades, she gradually draws her cloak back to cover her face, leaving us behind until she is completely hidden again. she rests, and waits, and eventually starts again. she's generous with her moonlight, but she's smart enough to keep some for herself.

the-moon

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i wish my own cycles were as predictable, as smooth. i've held so much darkness, and sometimes it wraps itself around me, holds me too tight, won't let me breathe. i'm slowly, slowly waxing, finding the light in the world, learning to reflect it back when i can. it takes so much time, so much energy.

i know what that dark moon feels like, how alone she is when her face is covered, her shadows so rich she's almost impossible to see. it's hard to remember right now, when she's shining in her full, perfect glory, but in a few short weeks she'll be hidden from me again, holding back her light, gathering that quiet strength for next time.

i hope i'm never that dark again. i hope i keep reaching for the light, even when it's distant and faint. and i hope the moon knows that even when she's surrounded by the shadows, hiding herself, that she's not alone.

i'll never stop looking for her.