When all you got is these four walls…

It’s not hard to feel so small, when all you got is these four walls. It’s not hard to feel so small. All she wanted was to be enough. All she wanted was to be enough. So what does it take? Maybe it’s not too late. Yeah no one heard her when she said…

There are good things and bad things in life. My life. I have good people. I have bad people. I have people I should get rid of, and people I should cling tighter to. I should make the effort to keep in touch with those I don’t, and stop talking to some.  I realized today that not only am I angry by today’s political issues that I’m fucking scared. Terrified. I got into an argument with someone who genuinely believed that “all men” think and say the things that the current president said and says about women. Re-read that. This man said that *ALL MEN THINK AND SAY THEY WANT TO SEXUALLY VIOLATE WOMEN*.

This lit a fuse and I went off. Oops. I honestly admit, if he had said it in my presence I probably would have swung. I could feel my face burning. It wasn’t embarrassment or horror. It was rage. How DARE he say that about all men. I KNOW men who are… not all men think this… Do they?  This put my brain in panic mode. Which angered me further. DO all men think about this? DO all men, at one point or another in their lives, think about sexually violating women? Do my male friends think this? About me? My female friends? Someone’s daughter? Sister? Mother?

She said she wants to end it all when she’s all alone in her room. She cries. The way she feels inside is too much for her. When all you got is these four walls, it’s not that hard to feel so small, or even exist at all. How come no one heard her when she said…

I’ve been stress eating again, so I’ve gained some weight. I hate this. It makes me feel ugly. I need to stop eating so much. Or exercise. I just don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything right now. The Benadryl is helping me sleep. I’ve added it to my nightly meds, I just don’t want to get up. And not because I’m groggy, I just don’t want to. The nightmares have been hard core, lately. Mostly something sitting on me and pounced, ready to attack.  I know if I open my eyes I’m screwed. I’ve been drinking more coffee than I even used to. Not sure exactly what that says. I don’t think I’m supposed to drink coffee with my medicine. I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol. Occasionally I’ll add some rum or vanilla vodka to it because, tasty. But not often, and not much.  I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol with my meds, but I like the flavor. Spiced rum in coffee is delish!

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful, cause no one’s ever told her so. And the demons that she hides, are all she knows. And maybe she can fall in love with someone in her life that she could trust, and tell her she’s enough. (Have someone tell her she’s enough!)
How come no one heard her when she said…

I think I’m getting crazier. But I think I say that every post, now don’t I?  By this point I should be so fucking crazy that my brain oozes from my nose and ears. Now THAT would be a sight. I guess I just feel that since the only thing I’m good at is driving people away, I must be a fucking nut case. Under job applications, “Best skills” I should put “Driving people away because I’m an asshole.”  But, alas, I think that might not be the best of ideas. My head’s been extra loud lately. Lots of guilt. Whether or not it’s deserved, (Isn’t it always?) it’s there. It eats at my brain. It eats at my soul. It nibbles at my fingers and toes at night.

Maybe I’m better off dead. If I was, would it finally be enough to shut out all those voices in my head? Maybe I’m better off dead.  Better off dead!  Did you hear a word, hear a word I said? This is not where I belong. You gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.

While no, I don’t think about killing myself, I sometimes wonder whether or not all of the self-doubt, anger, hatred, and fear will go away when I realize I’m dying.  Whether it’s a split second before a car crash, or dying slowly from a cancer, or just plain old age. I just wonder. Will I die angry and feeling alone? I’ve always been that person who can be surrounded by so many people, friends even, and I feel so alone. I feel like I’m just so… isolated. I can’t explain what’s in my head, and how I feel, so it just makes me sad. There’s really no other way to explain it. There’s no way to express the heavy weight of trying to describe my thoughts and feelings and having someone tell me I’m wrong, or that I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s depressing for someone to tell me that I have no business being upset about something that I took wrong. Whether or not I took something wrong, or got upset because of something they said that they did or didn’t mean, does not invalidate my feelings.  … right?

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I can’t quite contain or explain…

My evil ways. Or explain why I’m not sane. All I can say is this is your warning. Duality. 

Speaking of warning. I should warn everyone when I am going to disappear for a while, but it is not always planned. Sometimes I just have no desire to talk about what is in my head. It’s not you. It’s me.  I’ve had more swings, up and down.  Duality. Appropriate. I’m almost a completely different person when I’m at each end of the spectrum. Or at least I feel that way.  I keep getting told that people don’t like me when I am on a down swing. No shit. I don’t like me when I am on a down swing.  I want to be peppy all of the time. I WANT to be able to be happy, or bubbly, or bouncy, or just otherwise wonderful to be around. I WANT to be one of those people. But I’m not. I’m just me.

No, can’t count the list of things I know are wrong with me. No need to just keep fighting. No, I’ll never take the blame… So I’ll just take the blame, I’ll never stop.

I have a chemically different brain than the average human being, and I react differently to most situations. There are things that do not bother me in the slightest that should affect me greatly. There are other things that should not bother me so much that are almost devastating. In general, death of humans does not bother me. I can’t explain why. That’s just not normal. Animals rip me to shreds. That’s the way you’re supposed to react. But humans? Nah. Maybe that’s because animals are innocent, while humans aren’t. Maybe we were at the spawning, freshly expelled from the womb, but almost instantaneously the negative influences begin. I just fight to care.

I am good, I am evil. I am solace, I am chaos. I am human, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

I want to be chemically balanced. I want to be emotionally stable. I want to be able to focus on things and see the good instead of the inherent evil. I see people, and I see the things wrong with them. I see their twisted, warped, and conniving intentions. Are they real? Probably not.  But that’s what I see. I know I’m biased against humanity. We’re destroying ourselves at an alarming rate, we’re killing each other, and we just don’t care. I hate it. It makes me wonder why I care about being so fucked up. It makes me wonder if part of the reason I react to everything so strongly is because I’m NOT broken, but that everyone else is. I sometimes think that the reason that I’m so emotionally overcharged is because no one else is.

I have an impression, in the back of my mind, for the black in my tie contains our dirty thoughts. Make me an obsession, when you lock me inside for the ride of your life unleashed. Gonna get it off.

I’m not sleeping again. My doctor changed my meds again. She told me to take diphenhydramine to sleep. Do we know what that is, class? Benadryl. I am amused. Highly even. But hey, in theory it works. Just… as long as I don’t take too much and go into a Benadryl coma and sleep for 14 or so hours. Waking up with a Benadryl hangover is NOT pleasant. But if it works, I guess we’ll do it. The alternatives are medicines that I REALLY am not keen on taking. And hey, if I can sleep, I can avoid the real world, right?

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.