Nothing in the cage…

Of my ribcage. Got no heart to break, like it that way.  Nothing in the cage of my ribcage.  Emptiness is safe, keep it that way. 

I often wonder why I bother getting out of bed, when all I can do is make people angry or hurt.  I get excitable and distracted and forget what I was doing, or to say or do things I was supposed to.  It gets me in trouble. It gets others mad at me. Which makes me feel worthless.  Do they make me feel worthless?  Not specifically, usually, just I do.  When I make people angry or upset them it all becomes a reflection on myself.  If I was a better human I would not cause this reaction or end result.  I think about these things as I try to convince myself that it is a good idea to wake up every day.  Nights like this make it very difficult to want to do so.  One of my doctors warned me that I would probably do really well on my meds, until things started going bad and then I would slack off and stop taking them.  I am still taking them, just not on time and every night.  I DO take my day chalk, though.  Maybe that is why my brain is overworking right now.  More so than it has been.

Used to be, I had a light, I had a fire in my chest.  Oh, but now I’m all out, and I’ve got nothing left.

One of the things I have never been good at was knowing whether or not people are actually my friends or just using me.  But because of the way things have turned out the past few years, I have become so jaded that I always see the worst out of everyone and every thing. Show me that I can trust you, please.  Tonight I ended up angering one person by getting distracted talking to another.  It really makes no difference how I feel about it.  Remorse and apologies matter not.  I know that I get distracted easily, and I know it is no excuse. I apologized. It is, unfortunately, the best I can do.  It is not as though I can go back in time and fix my errors.  If I could, there are a lot of things I would change. Hell, read through my posts. If you find nothing you think I would change, I just scratch my head in your direction.

Nothing left, now I’m feeling numb. And just like you, I couldn’t love someone.  There is no one I can belong to.

When I got distracted talking to the one friend, it was actually bragging about the person I upset. I understand and accept my fuck up. It is one more in a long list of things I think about every night that I have done to screw everything up. (Ask me again why I have trouble sleeping, please?)  I get it. He is angry. Furious. Hurt.  I am hurt too, but for a different reason.  Other than the fact that it hurts and angers me when I hurt others, I got a cruel lashback tonight that just… I clenched my jaw and my eyes glazed and burned. They lost focus, letting the blur take over. My lip trembled and I shivered and started to feel icy.  That is generally how I respond to betrayal. He told me that that friend really gives zero shits about me, or even really like me.  He made sure to outline all of the ways he was told and shown this tonight.

On the path, never leaving home.  Cut it out from my flesh and bone. And I feel like I can’t see anything. 

Everyone gets angry and upset. I am absolutely the poster child for this.  I get angrier when manic than when depressed. I lash out. We all do. But tonight… Tonight was cruel. Tonight was painful, and twisting. Tonight leaves me feeling like I should disappear. No one wants me around. Neither of them really gives a shit, one of which I already held at arms length–because I already knew we were friends of a mutual benefit. We play a game together, not real life friends.  Disappointing that he really does not like me much, but not too surprising.  Most people really are not big fans of me, either.  The other, just was so cruel, it made my arms itch. I just want to scratch it. I want to scratch it hard and deep.  Cruelty from people in general, I understand. Humans are a savage, petty species. We are a horrible invention.  But cruelty from those I care about, baffles me.  I think I must exclude them from humanity. I must expect that they are more human than humans? Is that even the way to word it, I don’t know.

Take you out, never bring you back again.  Back again.  Back again.  Can’t recall how we lost our innocence.  Innocence. Innocence.

When do I give up and just let go?  Not of specifics, but of everything? When do I stop fighting? When do I stop saying, “Not today.” And just start saying, “Ok.”

Cause everybody’s so scared…

We don’t wanna go there. We don’t wanna make a move. We got all our lives to lose, screaming in the dark while we just play our part.  I’ll play right along like I don’t know what’s going on.

It’s amazing that every time I take a break it tends to be in reaction to some external source.  This time, I had a creepy guy from my game (am I sensing a theme?) threaten me. No big deal. I’m a girl, I play video games, and sometimes I’m not bad at them.  That’s instant target for guys who can’t handle the “girl gamer” thing to attack.  But the creepy part was when he went out of his way to search me out and post my info all over the discord of my guild, and then said he’d be seeing me soon.  That honestly scared the ever living fuck out of me.  I’m used to assholes. I’m used to skeevy guys. Hell, I’ve had stalkers before, and death threats.  But none of them have ever said they’d come to my house and see me soon.  So I did what I do, and put up a brave face and pretended it didn’t bother me, while internally I had a never-ending panic attack.  I mentally cowered in the corner and hid under the blankets.  I had flashbacks, couldn’t breathe, and just felt trapped and cornered.  Pathetic, I know.  Perceived threat rather than actual solid imminent threat.  One might think that I’d know the difference by now.

You and I, we share the same disease.  Cover up, compromise what we grieve.  I’ve let more than my share of revivals die.  This isn’t pretty, but it’s who I am tonight.

My brain has been everywhere lately. One person has said that I’m snappy like when I was on Wellbutrin.  Maybe?  But I think it’s more my stress level.  I had my IUD changed at the beginning of last month.  I went from the copper IUD to the Mirena. The copper had no hormones. The Mirena has small doses that are sent directly to that area instead of pills that circulate.  The thought that’s been passing through my mind since that comment is whether or not that’s affecting my brain enough to cause me to be more stressed and snappy?  I don’t know.  I really don’t.  I guess next time I have an appointment with my doc I can ask.  She’ll tell me what she thinks.  And while I could probably make an appointment early, I really just don’t want to.

Pointing fingers, the problems still linger. They keep getting bigger, and I hold the trigger. Playing with fire, I live like a liar. Please somebody make a move!

I keep internalizing all of my problems, thoughts, feelings, little bits of everything.  So when someone asks me to express what’s bothering me it comes out more than I mean to.  Apparently I make excuses for everything. It’s never my fault. I never do anything wrong. Which is funny. If you ask me what went wrong with about anything, I always feel that it’s my fault.  I TRY to do things right. I just can’t.  I can’t do things right in my video game.  I can’t do things right in real life. I can’t do things right at work. I just can’t.  My mind is full of “can’t” when I am aware that it shouldn’t be.  But, again, I can’t.  I just want it all to be normal.  I wish for just 5 minutes a day I could be “normal” and happy and not-crazy.

Test my reality. Check if there’s a weak spot. Clingin’ to insanity. Hopes the world will ease up. Try to make it look like it’s all somehow getting better. Cause I know how to play it pretty good against the measure. Everyone started out a little insane, but we learn pretty quick how to fake it for the game. But some of you never learned to drop the act, so under that skin of yours: a heart attack.

Maybe the fact that I’m so crazy  and keep waiting for the world to end is why I like reading so much. I get so lost in those worlds that it doesn’t matter what’s happening in real life.  When I come back to reality, it’s easier to fake it.  I have that fantasy world to fall back to in my mind.  I can picture it better than day.  Maybe that’s why, if the zombie apocalypse ever comes I won’t be surprised?  Maybe it’s not a surprise thing, so much as a expectation.  It may not come out as zombies, but something is coming.  Without sounding so paranoid, but when I sound less crazy than the day-to-day, there’s a problem.

And if I had the answers I’d have written them out so I could tell you what to do and what this thing is about.  But all I’ve ever learned comes second-hand, and I dare not preach what I don’t understand. 

I want to say that I can fix myself, or that things out there can be fixed. I want it all to be kosher pickles.  But it can’t be.  There are too many things we can’t take back.  Too many nasty things said and done that just can’t be erased or even blurred into the background.  There are some things that will always be there bright and prominent in our minds and thoughts.  We will hear those words and voices louder than the rest, and replay those images and memories like old movies.  There has to be a way to make them stop, right? Well, other than the obvious.


I see the girls walk by…

Dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes. 

It’s easy to give people what they want.  You can smile, nod, say the right things, do the right things, but eventually doing what everyone else expects of you becomes the burden that no one can carry.  The weight bends and bows more each day, but because you’ve carried it so long and so far, you don’t dare lighten your load.  So when your foot slips, or you spill a bit, it’s such a surprise that the world wobbles for a moment. The whole world rests on that edge of crumbling and you fight to hold on tight.

I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see my red door, I must have it painted black. Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts. It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black.

I’m good at pushing. Great at it, really.  Strong arms from carrying things that I shouldn’t. Really, I know I shouldn’t. It is not my job to keep people happy, or to do things for everyone else before myself.  But I do.  I enjoy things that I feel that I’m good at.  And when I’m not, I have two extreme responses. I either give up, or I go hardcore.  So when I feel that I’m failing people, I go hardcore. I put my head down, and I find a way.  But when I feel that I’m failing at something for me, or that I want to do well, I just give up. It’s easier to give up than to fail.  Then it’s my decision rather than my lack of ability.

I see your red door. I want it painted black. No colors any more. I want them to turn black.

When I get hurt, I lash out.  Sometimes it’s over something silly and stupid. Sometimes it’s something major, but happens just the same.  From my experience, most people do that.  When animals get hurt, they scratch back. Humans are nothing of not a perfect example of reactive animals. I want people to hurt the way I’m hurting. I want them to “Get Theirs.” But I suppose that’s just childish, isn’t it? But that’s our first reaction, isn’t it? Someone hurts us, we want Karma to fuck them hard.

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue. I could not foresee this thing happening to you. If I look hard enough into the setting sun. My love will laugh with me before the morning comes.

I guess the question that I keep flipping, flopping, and pondering and pummeling and pounding and clawing and scraping in my head is just that. Which bit and piece of everything I’ve done is catching up to me this time?  And is Karma really, actually, a balancing and retribution of the soul and actions, or is it a product of our self guilt and punishment?

You watch me bleed…

Until I can’t breathe. I’m shaking, falling onto my knees. 

I’m sad. Maybe just more hurt.  I’m a cutter.  Well, no. I haven’t done it in a while. And before the last time I did it, it had been years.  That said, I’m a klutz. I get hurt often. I’m generally covered in bruises that I have no idea where they come from.  I’m so used to tripping and walking into things that I just don’t remember. People have asked me if my boyfriend beats me, my parents beat me, hell, if my cats beat me.  Tonight hurt. I was asked by someone I’m close to if I do it to myself.  I’ve never hidden my cutting from my friends. I never felt the need to. But I never ran around showing it off.  Honestly, most of the time I forgot about it.  I was so used to it that it was always there. I guess I figured that if there were questions, my friends would ask.  But if I ever said it hurt, I made it clear that it was my own fault because I did it myself.  Consequences of my actions.

I’ll be needing stitches. I’m tripping over myself. I’m aching begging you to come help.

I guess I’m just dumbfounded that he thinks so little of me that I’d do that. It’s one thing to make a cool, calculated slice across skin, versus bruising myself by randomly bumping into the corner of my bed, or kicking something and hurting my fucking foot.  What’s the last thing that I did to hurt myself?  I broke it when I punched the wall.  It’s feeling much  better, but still hurts.  It hurts constantly, but the most when I make a fist.  I can still feel tiny pieces floating where the bone had chipped.  Fine, yes. I did that one to myself.  I also flat out said, “I punched the wall. I punched it 19 times.” I admitted my stupidity, and am still paying for it.

Just like a moth drawn to a flame, oh you lured me in; I couldn’t sense the pain. Your bitter heart, cold to the touch. Now I’m gonna reap what I sew. I’m left seeing red on my own.

I was just shocked, so overwhelmed by the feeling of… mistrust?  I’m not sure what that feeling was.  Is. There’s hurt. There’s sadness. A lot of sadness. I’ve wanted to cry since he asked me.  I did a damn good job of not doing that. I am quite proud of myself for not breaking down. I’d like to think he couldn’t tell that I was on the cusp of a sob-fest.

I thought that I’ve been hurt before, but no one’s ever left me quite this sore. Your words cut deeper than a knife. Now I need someone to breathe me back to life.

I’m not upset that he cares. I’m not upset that he worries. Don’t think that I am. I’m just upset at how it made me feel. It’s funny. Ironic, even. This is the feeling that makes me want to cut. It makes me want to take my knife and slowly make a razor thin slit down my skin. But, I won’t. Because I just don’t want to do it. I mean, I do, but I don’t.

Don’t you get sick

Of only hearing your own voice? Talk like you’re so damn tough, but you’re just a little boy. You like to think you broke the mold, but now I’m sure.  You’ll crack just like the rest when I break your fucking jaw.

There are so many things that have changed in my life that I can never even begin to list them all.  I can say that I am happier than I was a month ago, two months ago.  I get to be myself, just me, not what I think people want me to be.  I still face fallout from it.  I was screwed over a few weeks ago.  Screwed over by my friends, again, I find the lack of surprise borderline amusing. Really, I actually find myself laughing as I think about it to write this out.  I knew it was coming eventually, it was just a matter of time.  It hurts, but it’s life.  I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not important. It’s just how things are.

I won’t settle, settle, settle. You are never gonna hold me down. So toxic, you ain’t nothin’ but a prick. I’m the best thing that never happened to you. Never, never, never, you are never gonna live this down. Life’s too short, I can’t fake it anymore. I’m the best thing that never happened to you.

Someone who left a long time ago once gave me “The most important piece of advice ever.” Maybe I should listen one of these days.  “Don’t ever leave something somewhere, or give something to someone that you can’t afford to lose.”  It was drilled into my head to never leave my heart with anyone that didn’t deserve it.  I never really did tend to listen to my betters.  I’ve loaned, and given, and left things that were important to me with people who I thought would take care of them.  Things including love, items, memories, secrets, emotions, trust.  I never get them back.  I want them back. I want it all back. I want my trust back. I want the pieces of my heart back. I want my secrets back. There are secrets I wish I hadn’t told people. They didn’t really deserve to know them.  I thought they did, but I’ve always been too trusting.  Trust tends to be what screws me, hey.

I let you get away with thinking you’re the cure. I think I’m in too deep, it’s time to pull the cord. You like me more when you think, I’m getting bored. I hope you’re home the day I tear down the walls.

Things have been better the last few weeks. I’ve spent time around people who genuinely care how I feel, how I’m doing, how my life is going.  They genuinely want me to be happy and healthy.  In the last two weeks, I’ve lost faith and trust in friends. I’ve given up on friends. I’ve become closer to others. I’ve helped friends through long nights. I’ve helped friends through long days. I’ve come full circle to a full year. And I lost what I’d gained. And there is nothing I can do about it.  I’ve gained good memories and bad. I’ve gained fear and sadness. I reconnected with a friend that I’d formerly had to cut out of my life. I have a stability in my brain that I haven’t had in years. The last week has been a little easier to sleep and less nightmares. I blame a few guys I know for that.  I’m okay with that. I think they would be, too.  They keep me laughing when I could be crying, and they remind me that I’m not quite as horrible of a person that I’ve been forced to feel like for the past two months.  I still feel like I’m a horrible person.  I’m not nice. I don’t do things that I should. But I won’t take blame for things that I have no control over anymore. That’s not my fault. And it won’t be anymore.

Life’s too short, I can’t fake it anymore

My year starts with an apology. Not mine. Someone else’s. When I get it, I want to talk to him again. But he’s more stubborn than I am, so I’m sure I’ll never get it.  But I’ll always wonder.

Say something…

I’m giving up on you. And I am feeling so small. It was over my head.  I know nothing at all. 

I trust people on levels. I’ll tell certain people certain things of certain secrecy to decide whether or not they’re trustworthy.  I have one secret that I’ve never told.  Not so much a secret, but kind of?  A combination of information that I’ve never.. Fuck it. I told someone something important. It’s the most important and devastating thing to me.  And all I needed was for someone to know. And someone who had a clue check in on me and make sure I’d be alright.  I’m a fucking idiot.  I’m not making that mistake again.  I’m trying to be fine.  I’m shivering like I’m cold.  The lights aren’t bright enough, but they’re too bright.  I can barely keep my eyes open, and I know I’ll fall asleep here shortly, and it’s just going to suck.  I’ve been fine for the last however long.  It’s not easy, and it’s torturous, but it’s something I’ve obviously lived through, and not dead, so stronger, don’t they say?

And I will stumble and fall.

This is why I said it wasn’t important.  Because I knew it wasn’t.  I just didn’t mean it wasn’t important to me.

It isn’t me…

We have some seed. Let me clip your dirty wings. Let me take a ride. Don’t cut yourself. I want some help to please myself. I’ve got some rope. You have been told.

I had an appointment with my doctor yesterday. My brain doctor. She changed my meds. Well, not so much change them as doubled one of them. She had me take an extra one last night. Between that and sleeping meds, I fell asleep, and pretty early, too. I think I may have been out by 10:30. Then I woke up at 12:30. I fell back asleep shortly after and woke up at 3:30 half screaming. For whatever reason, when I wake up from my nightmares, sometimes I yowl or yelp, but rarely  ever scream unless it’s a night terror and I have no idea where or what or who I am.

Polly wants a cracker. I think I should get off her first. I think she wants some water to put out the blowtorch.

I’ve had nightmares all my life. My doctors never believed me. It’s gotten worse over the last few years because of various experiences. Tonight’s or maybe it’s  considered last night, I don’t know. Either way, it was bad; it was really bad. I’ve had them pretty nasty for the last two weeks or so, but this is one that I haven’t had yet at all and it was absolutely terrifying and devastating.

Polly wants a cracker. Maybe she would like some food. She asked me to untie her. A chase would be nice for a few.

A lot of my nightmares are memories. Some of them are warped some of them or not. There’s one memory that I only have bits and pieces of. It’s not one that I talk about much. But it’s one I dream about a lot. Not dreams, nightmares. I had that nightmare tonight but there were some changes. The time, the place, the words, the actions, they’re all the same. The difference was the voice. The difference was the face. The difference was the body. The difference was the hands. The difference was the teeth. The difference was the fists. And the difference was the sneer.  It came from something different something deeper, something darker, and something more terrifying. This came from HIM. This came with the knowledge that I was no longer safe.

Polly says her back hurts. And she’s just as bored as me. She caught me off my guard, it amazes me, the will of instinct.

I had known before that I wasn’t safe. But then I thought I’d found safety. Even with everything that happened, I was stupid enough to think I was still safe. But I think I just realized that I’m not. That if I was in trouble or something, I don’t have anything safe anymore. And now, with that realization,  I’m more terrified than I was then.  And it’s more important than ever to hide that from everyone.  I just feel like I need to vomit. And my hand  is definitely broken.