Another bad day (but I love Mondays)
I'm so scared right now; scared that I'll lose all I'll love, and scared that this fear will break my will to keep avoiding the thing I most want. I want to tear into myself, rip through skin like it's paper and bash bone against meat like I need to remove recognition. I love so much, and I feel like that's falling away to nothing. I hold so much hate for myself, I always have. The black dog seems to have followed since I was young. I don't know why, but I haven't been able to beat it. No matter how happy, no matter how safe, no matter how good I make myself I always fail to stop it. When I fail, when I misstep it comes right back and bites down. I always know that I am alone, I'm never deceived, but sometimes I can convince myself that the moment is safe… that I can let a breathe out. Those moments are what I live for, peace. There are times when I can find so many of them, but recently they have felt so fleeting. Right now the rug has been pulled out from under my feet. A failed love, the wrong partner, and a misunderstood friend. All the points that I used to find fleeting moments of joy now feel like a mirror to look back at my inadequacy and failure. I try so hard to help and to speak kindly and yet I just seem to fail. I try so hard to support, and I think I am but at the end of the journey I am told I never did. What a miserable dolt to think he's so helpful when he's really so destructive.
When these realizations solidify the urge pulses to the top like bubbling oil, sticking to each thought. All I want it to hurt myself. Bash, cut, bruise. They've told me not to, and I don't for them because it would hurt them, because it would scare them off, and because it would make them sad… but what if they're leaving anyways? Why should I keep holding strong if the only thing if meaning that kept me from terror is closing the door behind? I still am out of hope that they come back but fuck am I scared, and hungry. All I want is to cut deep enough to see layers extrude, I want to bleed until I pass out on the floor in my own puke, I want to see the blackness pulse from the corners of my vision until there's nothing left but silence and dark. That's what I want, every day.
I don't think anyone will ever understand me. When I run away it's not because I'm avoiding, it's because I'm trying to stop this rush of violence. If I get quiet it's because I'm fighting off thoughts of how I will leave long lasting marks that cannot be ignored, if I snap it's because nobody feels the urdges I do to eviscerate meat and they cannot understand what it feels like to fight that every single.second of every day. When I get a little sad, I want to take a finger. When I feel lonely, I want to bleed myself out like a cow on a hook,.when I am abandoned I want to fillet myself in front of a crowd as proof of my unworthiness an my filth. I am alone, always. Because if.i followed all the things I wanted, people would leave without a second thought. They may not always know why, but I think they feel it lurking below. That's why when I'm scared and sad they run away, that's why when I cry they feel disgust, and that's why when I protect myself that get angry; because they feel what I am protecting myself from.
Even through all this I am still managing not to hurt myself, I'm still so fucking hopeful that it will be okay. It doesn't feel okay, though. It feels hopeless. The love of my life, my everything has decided I'm unpalatable and unappealing. My friends follow her away, and my thoughts rip harder than they ever have. What do I have without others pure love? Nothing, I have nightmares and pain and misery. I am a sad, lonely, filthy person with nothing to give except the creations born of that dirty suffering. Like a circus freak people peer inside until they're deep enough to smell my stench. Then they leave, the choose another, and they misunderstand. I try so hard to speak what I mean and it never comes out right. The most capable imbecile that's ever lived, I could have anything I see and yet I can't what I need; safety, love and peace. This devil's dilemma strikes daily.
Keep holding out against violence, something else will break and it might be okay. All I want right now, though, is that it could be the final day where I break first. Where I take my own life in my hands and decide to be free. One-day I will be gone, by my own hand; I think I know that to be true.
Yet I still desperately clutch to each and every sliver and grain of hope that I will be loved, that I won't be abandoned, and that it might still be okay.
People are good! I'm not evil! I'm good! I hope this can be true; it's what I'm changing under my breath to keep my hands from my neck and the knives from my grip. Godspeed deliverance, and pray for an unbound supply of lorazepam and a glucose stuffed reprieve.
With honesty,
pee-bee
