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.

So please come in…

And take a seat. Here’s the part when I learn, and you will teach on how to treat people like a piece of meat. I want a genuine, not a replica. Lethal medicine, a pin to the cornea, a sight for sore eyes. While other guys consume the lie, I’ll run and hide.

I should be angry. I should have spent a good bit of the last however long, angry.  But I haven’t. I’ve been hurt.  I’ve been alone.  I think that’s the hardest. I’ve been alone.  Yeah, I have people to talk to. But it’s different. It’s not the same.  I know it never will be.  I’m trying to figure out how to accept that.  I know I need to let go.  It’s not a matter of what I want or need.  That was made quite clear.  Friends don’t talk to each other out of pity.  And the only reason he still talked to me to be friends was out of pity.  I won’t do that to him anymore.

Drown me, slit my throat so lightly. Pick me up and drop me right into my grave. And now I wonder, sit alone and ponder. Should I even bother, when I see your face? The itch I couldn’t scratch. But I’d come crawling back but now. I’d much rather, rather, rather, rather, rather…

I haven’t been sleeping.  Haven’t had more than ten or so hours in the last week.  It’s not important.  Sleep is for the worthy.  And I’m not deserving.  Every time I close my eyes, I wake up in terror.  Last night was horrible.  Something broke.  I felt a snap.  It felt physical.  Like something deep inside actually snapped in half.  It hurt.  It hurt so bad that all I wanted was to bleed. To bleed until I bled dry.  I just want it to go away and not come back.  I want it over.  I couldn’t breathe. I was just reminded that I was worthless, and never mattered.  I was just a joke, like I always am.  I’m only useful to pull someone back from the edge, and kept around out of obligation.  I should have known better. I’ve never been worth more than a social experiment or amusement.

No doors exist on my fortress. The only entrance is the one I bear. You’re nothing more than a temptress. I fell victim to a heartless snare. 

When I broke, the floodgates opened.  The screaming started, louder than the music I use to distract me.  Drowning out the memories I use to calm the agony.  And this time I’m not forcing it out.  I’m riding it hard, letting it roll over me.  Wave after wave, it’s almost deafening.  I can’t concentrate, or think.  That’s probably a good thing.  All I hear or can focus on is the screaming.  Usually when it starts it’s a plethora of screams.  This time it’s one.  It’s one tormented and distraught scream that never ends.  It is wild and raw and near crazed.

I’m the master of construction, because I’m building walls like it’s my occupation. If you portray a liar, I’ll shut you out without hesitation.

I was trying to figure out a way to let go of holding on so tight, because I thought I was hurting someone I cared about.  Turns out I wasn’t.  He’d already gotten well over it.  I was an idiot.  I AM an idiot.  At least he got what he wanted.  He can be free. He never has to call me again. I’d never want someone to call me or text me out of PITY.  Or because they felt OBLIGATED to.  That just makes me feel… Dirty. Pathetic.  Even more worthless than I am.

I’d rather burn the bitch down. I never will cross that bridge again. I cannot trust you easily, or think that I’m the only one. I never let people in, and I have you to remind me why. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. Go ahead and burn the bridge right down, it’s what you wanted. Burn the bridge right down. I’m not the only one, the only one. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. I’d rather drown.

I made my knuckles bleed. Over and over and over again.  Three. Nine. Thirteen. Nineteen.  Nineteen was hard.  I think I broke it.  But nineteen is the number. It was calming. With each blow I lost more and more of what I’ve always felt was my humanity.  I let the screaming win.  I let the pain win.  I let it go.  I’m letting my emotions fade, I have no need for them.  Pain isn’t good.  And since I just learned that my memories of happiness were fake and out of a sense of obligation, I gained an emptiness that I don’t know how to fill.  The fix for this is to stop any concern about filling this gaping hole. Let it bleed.

I will fight…

Until the day the world stops turning. And they will fall to ashes, I will just keep burning.   But tonight, I need you to save me. I’m too close to breaking, I see the light. I am standing on the edge of my life.

I’ve been so upset lately about things going on that I can’t control.  I suppose, in theory, I could have stopped them from happening, but I really couldn’t.  Once things are set in motion they tumble and roll down the hill and snowball until they hit the brick wall and explode. I’ve held on to everything so tight that my knuckles have cracked and bled. I’m not sure I know how to let go.  But over the last few days I’ve realized I need to.  I can’t hold on anymore.  I’m being pulled under.  Sleep isn’t possible.  Breathing has become a luxury.  It’s a luxury I can’t afford to lose.  Breathing isn’t exactly one of those things you can just give up on a whim.

With each step I hold my breath, and I’m tangled in your spiderwebs. I call out but I fall, and I wonder if you ever cared at all. 

I feel like I’m giving up on so much by this realization, but at the same time, I remember how much I’m gaining.  I’ve been so worried about getting my best friend back, that I forgot how hard things had gotten lately between us.  Pouring a boiling pot of my fuckery onto a friend, she just looked at me and said, “Do you realize that he stopped being your best friend a long time ago?”  No. I hadn’t.  But we spent a long time talking about it.  She’s right.  There were great things and bad things. But the last few months had gotten bad.  We fought angry and bitter.  I cried. I hid myself. I cowered in fear of the verbal repercussions of every sentence I’d speak.  That’s not how things had EVER been with the one I’d spent forever coaxing from the edge and back to humanity.

This is how it all turns out. You’re the hero, I’m left out. I should’ve known you couldn’t stand up for me and be a man.

This isn’t to say that I place blame solely or remotely on him.  When the first little bit broke through, I should have said then and there that I wasn’t okay with that.  I didn’t. I let things fester and boil until they were too far gone to salvage.  And it’s sad because since the nuclear explosion, there were things said, on both sides, that crossed lines.  I don’t know that we can go back to what we were. Ever. Friends, yeah. But as to being one of the most important people in my life, yeah, he always will be.  But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust him the way I did before. That burns.

I still have dreams of you at night. I can’t tell the dark from light. I never thought I’d be the one you’d leave behind.

I won’t say that it’s a relief to come to the realization. Because it isn’t. It’s just there. It’s a fact. Things have changed. Irreparably. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for certain things he’s said to me. And I know there are things he’ll never forgive me for.  We’re working on being friends. We’re trying. It’s just rough to go from being able to call any time with anything and knowing that I can trust him with anything, and that I’m safe, to not having that.  It’s better this way, since it means I have to learn to function without a crutch. I think that’s what we’d both become to each other.

You said you’d stay, I said I’d wait.  All those words we spoke in vain. I still recall the bitter taste. I guess some things never change. And then I think of yesterday, and every promise that you made. I never thought I’d be the one that you would break.

I’m not happy with my decision to let go and try to figure out what to do and how to function with a chunk missing, but it’s necessary. It’ll be a learning process. Usually when I get to that point, it’s because I’ve been forced to do it.  People either drive me to the point of walking away, which is super rare, or they walk away from me.  This is me backing away so that I don’t have to walk away.  I’m hoping it works, as civility has only recently started creeping back into our conversations.