Say I never mattered. Run it up the flagpole.
Every time I try to explain my brain, it causes more pain and frustration. I don’t know who it hurts more, others or me. I’m starting to get better at numbing down, I think. Real life, that is. (Obviously not with my dream fuckery from the other night.) I’m so tired of fighting with people. Every time I open my mouth, a fight follows. I guess I really should go back to isolation. I just don’t know if I can trust myself anymore. Or anyone else to not fuck with my brain issues.
It’s all over now. Before it has begun.
I got a sketch pad tonight. I was sketching some. This is a good thing, I guess. I used to draw all the time to calm my brain. Except… the only time I’ve ever been able to draw well are under two conditions. I’m either drunk, or depressed to the point of, well, everyone knows where I’m at now. I need to either do it or sunshine up. Im teetering on the edge. Do you know you’ve almost pushed me too far?
Tonight, the foxes hunt the hounds.
I’d forgotten how good cutting felt until I did it a few weeks ago, and now I want to do it again. I want to feel the hot sticky blood ooze down my arms. I want to feel it drip off of my skin. I want to smell it. I want to feel the physical pain so I can figure out how to handle this pain I can’t process. But I also want to go too deep. I want to see that deep dark red ooze, then slowly flow from that clean, razor sharp cut. I want to feel the dizziness that follows as it drains.
We are wild. We are like young volcanoes.
When do I ever get what I want?