bloodless breakdown.

I haven't been feeling my best this week, mentally and emotionally. Last night I must have been tired because I broke down after he left. The urge to cut open my skin was so bad but I was able to keep myself from sharp objects and get to bed before I did some damage. I think that is the key there, or at least it helps. Make myself fall aleep before things get worse.

The cutting is no doubt an addiction and although my scars are hard to hide and to explain, I find that I like them now and I want more. More and worse ones. I don't think this is a cry for attention, I just love the way the white stripes cross my arms, my back, my shoulders. They tell a story and they are like art and my body is my canvas. I know I shouln't be ruining my body. It was created for me to use and to protect and to cherish. A body is part of the reason why we came to the earth anyway. But I went and got addicted to the pain, the red that follows, and the white reminders that are left behind.

I hope I get better, but part of me hopes I carry this with me always because it's a part of me now, but a crutch. I know I need to be strong enough to get rid of it, and so far I've been doing reasonable well. The last time I cut myself was April 12, 2012. It's been 2.5 months. Let's see how long I can keep this up.

self destruction.

A big black E marks the place where I lay alone at night. E for empty, which is what I've been for some time now. Longer than I originally thought. Right now is when I need saving the most, but the sad thing is I know no one is coming. No one is coming. And the saddest thing is the hope that hides under my skin, faint and sickly. Half dead and being swallowed by hate. Hate for Self. Why I decided to live in self destruction, I may never know, but here I am pulling down lights and peeling off skin and breathing underwater until I'm dragged down to the bottom with my hair floating silently like a rope. Waiting for someone to come, but no one will come. No one is coming.

extinguished.

It's gone. The fire, the passion. You hold none of that in my heart any longer. I can't tell you why. I don't even know. The love I have now if the love you keep for a friend, someone who needs help. You go in to kiss me and I am repulsed. The fire is gone and it's not coming back.

How do I tell you your love is unrequited? I can't explain how it happened, this always happens.
Am I defective?
No, you just aren't the one.

weakness.

I made a mistake and now I'm paying for it. I sit on the edge of your bed. You're concerned, I'm not responding.  Tears brim at the edge of my eyes, that hesitation before they spill over and down my cold cheek. "Is it one of those days?" you ask. I barely nod, I can't tell you anything.

At home alone. I try to do the mundane tasks. Grab the handle of the fridge and grief knocks me to my knees. I hold on for support and wait till it passes. My muscles and limbs ignore me when I command. My hands go limp and I wait and wait and sink lower into the dark.

I've got to get out.
Get out.
Out.

12/05/10

Eight Legged Freaks
Looking back at what I've said earlier I think, "who is this person who writes these? How come she keeps changing every time. I'm different tonight then I was last time I wrote.
  Is anyone going to read this? Will I ever be brave enough? Maybe its not bravery, maybe its apathy. I don't care if you read into my soul, just don't tell my parents.
  It's funny how parents spend so much of there time taking care of us and protecting us and now I feel like I should protect them from what's bad out there. No, you shouldn't read that, its not appropriate, it might even make you sad.
  The reason I won't talk to them about any of my problems or worries is not because I don't love them. It's because they're so busy and so stressed out that I don't want to make them have to worry about more things. I'll try to be as low matinence as I can.
  I just lost my train of thought. Not that these are following any kind of flow anyway. What was I going to say? I can't remember now. Time to go to bed because my eyeballs are burning and I'm afraid a spider is going crawl on me. I'm sorry, you have eight legs and are gross, so you deserve to die.

11/04/10

Shortest In The Room
Pretty tired tonight so I won't write very long. I can hardly even concentrate. I don't like being lied to. Just fess up. Seriously.

10/11/10

She Is Rain

Personally I think I may be going insane. The amount of time I spend... I dont know why I said that. It came to mind as something to write, but it was a thought unfinished. I have a lot of those. Words or phrases come into my head and they may not be attached to any thought I was just thinking.
  If you say no, does that justify you? What if you just push away? Why do I have so much trouble with making sounds? When its time to talk, I'd rather listen. Listen to my silence... that will answer your nagging questions. I cant make myself say no. My weakness makes me full of anger. Self destructive flame of hate. Makes me want to scream and burn my nerves so I can feel something.
  Soften my heart, I need to feel. I'm tired of being alone. It's the only thing that can really make me cry. Sit... silence... I'm alone and its too painful to bear.
   There I go, not making sense. I say I don't feel, yet I said the pain is too hard to bear. Look at me and tell me what you see. Do I smile? Do I make you feel good? Great, fun, loving, beautiful. There is nothing beautiful about sin. This sinner is ugly and longs to wash herself.
  I sit in the shower sometimes and let the water just soak into me. Hit me fast and light. I blend and for a while I can disappear. Sorry, she's not here right now. She's water, falling fast and although among other water, very alone.

companion, consumer.

A TV ad for depression medication. Depression is a dark spot that follows her and consumes her. With the medication she is put in control. The spot shrinks and can no longer consume. Victory, right? No, the spot continues to follow her. It is not a monster, but it is there. It will always be there. No matter how happy she is, no matter what medication she is taking, the spot is constantly following. Attached like a shadow. Seemingly harmless but the spot is waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to consume her.

It never goes away, but I will accept that and deal with the spot. And it will still follow me.

At least it is a companion. I am never alone.