April Showers Brings May...
We only believe the negative that we see and hear more quickly because the negative is almost always the most truthful.
I started this blog so that I wouldn't feel lonely. For a while blogging and sharing things with others was a great distraction, but the past month or so I feel as if it's not really working for me. Sometimes I think this blog increases the sense of isolation and loneliness that I feel, so if I'm not updating all that regularly anymore that's the reason why.
I started this blog so that I wouldn't feel lonely. For a while blogging and sharing things with others was a great distraction, but the past month or so I feel as if it's not really working for me. Sometimes I think this blog increases the sense of isolation and loneliness that I feel, so if I'm not updating all that regularly anymore that's the reason why.
Will I ever know true freedom? Or will I forever be bogged down by depression and doubts? I see the grey haze of the sky between the vibrate yellow greens of the leaves. I feel unease. Something is waiting. Something is wrong. A storm is coming. I can feel it in my heart and in my bones.
I can only feel this level of deep arousal when lighting clasps across the sky. I feel the energy.
I want to hurt myself. I want to cut out everything disgusting about me and replace it with something I like. I ache to dismantle myself, to rebuild it with new pieces. I’m disgusted every time I look in the mirror. It’s almost as if the reflection becomes more and more hideous. I’m always looking for new ways to express my anger, contempt and misery not only on my body but upon others.
The past few weeks have left me shorter and far more bitter. As my tether shortens, it’s hard to keep focus. It’s hard to contain the facade. My outbursts have become far angrier and I’m inching closer to the edge of complete destruction. Sometimes its as if I’m looking at myself from all over the world. My bipolar has spiralled out of control. I’ve not been doing anything that I should to care for myself and possibly lessen the severity of the depression. I’m drained of everything most days; energy, desires, even intellect. I lay like a vegetable, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Before I couldn’t sleep. Now all I want to do is sleep. It feels as nothing will ever fulfil this fatigue. My mind and body are falling apart. I’m cold and most days I just want to cry. I feel such a loneliness and emptiness I don’t know if it will ever be filled. I curl up with my dolls and imagine a life where I don’t suffer as I do. I imagine a life with sunshine, happiness and real relationships; not ones that I have to imagine in my head. Most, if not all of my friendships are in my head. No one wants me around. I don’t even want me around. They see this and they feed off it. They stay away because they know hidden under my clothes is a pathetic excuse for a human being.
I hold my silence because I know it doesn’t matter what I think, say or feel. No one will listen. No one will care. And it will not change a thing. I’m spiralling. I look out the window at the pouring rain, watching the gentle pink tones of the flowers and in the face of their beauty, all I can see is sadness. I see new cuts on my wrist. I see his rejection of a relationship. I see all of the light beginning to diminish. I see myself on a cold metal slab, my possessions scattered to the wind. I’ve done nothing worthwhile here. I have nothing of any real value. I’m spaceless. I am worthless.
No one understands how much rejection burns through me. How I’ve spent a lifetime of being pushed away, left out and demeaned. They all spoon feed me lies of ‚It will get better.‘ Realistically it never has and it most likely never will. They have no idea how this feels, to forever remain unwanted. And how could they? They have relationships. They have people who love them. They have friends. They have family? And what do I have? A few people that I share DNA with and a few people who treat me as some sort of online fun plaything.
My mate doesn't want me to cut. She fails to see the relief that it brings me. That it settles the storms inside. She makes it about her and her failures. It's not a reflection of her, it's a reflection of how much I hate myself. How dark I've become. How desperate I've become. I'm nothing more than a ghost with a heartbeat. Memories drip through me and nothing can be done.
I need that red river of intoxication to take me to the land beyond. If she could only understand what magic these blades work on me, she wouldn't be so selfish. I hate when people turn it around and play the victim card. I want to shake the shit out of them and scream, "YOU'RE NOT A VICTIM YOU DOSS CUNT!!" She'd see that the destruction is a necessary component.
Why? No one will hold me, no one will see me, so it makes absolutely no difference what happens to this ugly, horrible shell that I'm forced to call a body.
<In This Skin // 30.04.17>
Will I ever know true freedom? Or will I forever be bogged down by depression and doubts? I see the grey haze of the sky between the vibrate yellow greens of the leaves. I feel unease. Something is waiting. Something is wrong. A storm is coming. I can feel it in my heart and in my bones.
I can only feel this level of deep arousal when lighting clasps across the sky. I feel the energy.
In a few days, it will condense. Well, if I’m being honest, it started back in late September when I discovered there was a chance for a meeting between the two of us. Am I as pathetic as I think I am? All hot and flustered, wrapped in silk sheets as the mid-autumn sun danced across me, touching myself, salivating at the thought of his touch. I grind my hips into the pillows, searching for the perfect arch. I need him. I want him. Let him be my sin and salvation. In regards to him, I’ve expressed my thoughts in so many mediums.
I can only feel this level of deep arousal when lighting clasps across the sky. I feel the energy.
I want to hurt myself. I want to cut out everything disgusting about me and replace it with something I like. I ache to dismantle myself, to rebuild it with new pieces. I’m disgusted every time I look in the mirror. It’s almost as if the reflection becomes more and more hideous. I’m always looking for new ways to express my anger, contempt and misery not only on my body but upon others.
The past few weeks have left me shorter and far more bitter. As my tether shortens, it’s hard to keep focus. It’s hard to contain the facade. My outbursts have become far angrier and I’m inching closer to the edge of complete destruction. Sometimes its as if I’m looking at myself from all over the world. My bipolar has spiralled out of control. I’ve not been doing anything that I should to care for myself and possibly lessen the severity of the depression. I’m drained of everything most days; energy, desires, even intellect. I lay like a vegetable, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Before I couldn’t sleep. Now all I want to do is sleep. It feels as nothing will ever fulfil this fatigue. My mind and body are falling apart. I’m cold and most days I just want to cry. I feel such a loneliness and emptiness I don’t know if it will ever be filled. I curl up with my dolls and imagine a life where I don’t suffer as I do. I imagine a life with sunshine, happiness and real relationships; not ones that I have to imagine in my head. Most, if not all of my friendships are in my head. No one wants me around. I don’t even want me around. They see this and they feed off it. They stay away because they know hidden under my clothes is a pathetic excuse for a human being.
I hold my silence because I know it doesn’t matter what I think, say or feel. No one will listen. No one will care. And it will not change a thing. I’m spiralling. I look out the window at the pouring rain, watching the gentle pink tones of the flowers and in the face of their beauty, all I can see is sadness. I see new cuts on my wrist. I see his rejection of a relationship. I see all of the light beginning to diminish. I see myself on a cold metal slab, my possessions scattered to the wind. I’ve done nothing worthwhile here. I have nothing of any real value. I’m spaceless. I am worthless.
No one understands how much rejection burns through me. How I’ve spent a lifetime of being pushed away, left out and demeaned. They all spoon feed me lies of ‚It will get better.‘ Realistically it never has and it most likely never will. They have no idea how this feels, to forever remain unwanted. And how could they? They have relationships. They have people who love them. They have friends. They have family? And what do I have? A few people that I share DNA with and a few people who treat me as some sort of online fun plaything.
My mate doesn't want me to cut. She fails to see the relief that it brings me. That it settles the storms inside. She makes it about her and her failures. It's not a reflection of her, it's a reflection of how much I hate myself. How dark I've become. How desperate I've become. I'm nothing more than a ghost with a heartbeat. Memories drip through me and nothing can be done.
I need that red river of intoxication to take me to the land beyond. If she could only understand what magic these blades work on me, she wouldn't be so selfish. I hate when people turn it around and play the victim card. I want to shake the shit out of them and scream, "YOU'RE NOT A VICTIM YOU DOSS CUNT!!" She'd see that the destruction is a necessary component.
Why? No one will hold me, no one will see me, so it makes absolutely no difference what happens to this ugly, horrible shell that I'm forced to call a body.
Will I ever know true freedom? Or will I forever be bogged down by depression and doubts? I see the grey haze of the sky between the vibrate yellow greens of the leaves. I feel unease. Something is waiting. Something is wrong. A storm is coming. I can feel it in my heart and in my bones.
I can only feel this level of deep arousal when lighting clasps across the sky. I feel the energy.
In a few days, it will condense. Well, if I’m being honest, it started back in late September when I discovered there was a chance for a meeting between the two of us. Am I as pathetic as I think I am? All hot and flustered, wrapped in silk sheets as the mid-autumn sun danced across me, touching myself, salivating at the thought of his touch. I grind my hips into the pillows, searching for the perfect arch. I need him. I want him. Let him be my sin and salvation. In regards to him, I’ve expressed my thoughts in so many mediums.
The saying goes, "April showers bring May flowers" but what will bloom for me? Will anything bloom for me?
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