Just When You Thought it Could Not Get Worse

It was my idea and half way through it I found myself thinking that if I didn’t already plan on not surviving in the same form I am now I probably would take myself to the nearest highest bridge and jump off. I remember when he loved me and wanted to be around me. That is what makes it so horrible it would be different if I couldn’t remember or if it wasn’t so clear. I shouldn’t have gone there, I shouldn’t have sat there talking pouring my heart out to a person made of black glass just barely see through. I just didn’t realize that it would hurt so much. It is as if at any moment I am going to look down and I will have ripped out my own still beating heart from my chest. I can almost feel the slickness of the blood that still seems to pour out of it. I did this to myself and I can’t undo it. Before I get labeled an emo chick who is screaming whoa is me what I am talking about isn’t the teenage angst that is felt because of hormones but is no less real.

I thought that people stuck by each other when they loved one another. I thought if someone hurt a person you cared about you defended them. There was a time not so long ago that I would have stepped in front of a train to save the one life that I valued above all others and for some stupid reason I thought he felt the same about me. I feel deeper than most people. Feel stronger and bond tighter to those close to me.

When all of this started I thought that he would be there for me as I was for him every time he needed me. I did not expect what happened. Now as I sit alone as usual contemplating what went wrong I realize that the embedded carnival glass is moving under my skin again. It writhes and twitches like a living thing that wants out. For all I know it is alive and is willing to do what it can to break free of its prison just as I would be willing to do almost anything to break free of mine. Almost every avenue I have out is blocked. The last one came today when I found out the person I counted on the most had friends that hated me. With each passing thought the feeling gets worse.

You know the feeling that you feel when you just want to be home with your back against the wall tucked into a corner, just waiting? Just waiting to let out everything you’ve taken in that day. Feeling both desperate and relieved because nothing is wrong but nothing is right either, you are just so tired, tired of being nothing, tired of everything and you just want someone to tell you that it is ok. But no one is going to you know that from years of being kicked when you are down because no one can fix you. Tired of wanting tired of fixing yourself and everyone around you. Just once you want it to be simple to be helped to be saved but you know that’s not going to happen?

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Not OK

He said he would love me but was scared of the 1% of the time I was crazy. So he doesnt want me. Why does that bother me? Because I don’t want me. No one does.

Obsecro, mihi facultas videndi Deum angelis et demonibus – da mihi aliter vive – contra – O facultatem ad me, et audite obsecro ut interficias me, et pugnate pro eis vel.

Dieu s’il vous plaît me donner la possibilité de voir vos anges et les démons – me montrer une autre façon de vivre – lutter – s’il vous plaît m’aider et me donner la possibilité de voir et entendre les aider ou s’il vous plaît me tuer.

Gott gib mir bitte die Möglichkeit, Ihren Engel und Teufel zu sehen – zeigen Sie mir eine andere Art zu leben – zu kämpfen – bitte helfen Sie mir und geben mir die Fähigkeit zu hören und ihnen helfen, oder bitte töte mich zu sehen.

Ο Θεός παρακαλώ να μου δώσετε τη δυνατότητα να βλέπουν αγγέλους και διαβόλους σας – δείξτε μου έναν διαφορετικό τρόπο για να ζήσουν – για την καταπολέμηση της – παρακαλώ να με βοηθήσει και να μου δώσει τη δυνατότητα να δει ακούσει και να τους βοηθήσει ή μπορείτε να με σκοτώσει.

الله من فضلك أعطني القدرة على رؤية الملائكة والشياطين الخاص – تبين لي طريقة مختلفة للعيش – لمحاربة – الرجاء مساعدتي وتعطيني القدرة على رؤية نسمع ومساعدتهم أو يرجى قتلي.

يرجى قتلي.

मुझे मार दें.

obsecro ut interficias me.

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Ok So I am a bit more fucked up than normal

Rule number 1 Always have an exit strategy

Rule number 2 When you start to make your self think that you are crazy you probably are

Rule number 3 When you can no longer cope use the exit strategy

When pain outweighs the ability to cope then it is time not stop struggling to cope

When you want to scream scream. when you want to cry cry you know where this is heading I really am not sure that I am going to survive this.

On the Edge

As I curl in my living prison watching the leaves that shielded me all day I realize that it is happening again. The reason why I live my life in this desolate land of twisted images and all things sharp and dangerous. Sometimes I am ok and can peak out into the world, the real world. It usually isn’t long before the mask slams down over my features forcing a smile that never quite reaches my eyes. My frayed and fractured world is safe behind the walls inside me.

Most of the time I can function in both worlds, the one of pain and pleasure, and the real one with the people in it. Then there are times that I can’t. I can feel it happening like something blooming deep inside my chest. I can feel the darkness spread seeping through the organs and bone more efficient than the spread of the most aggressive cancer and the darkness is twice as deadly.

This is not new. This is not different. This does not change. I can only hide from it for so long before I start to slip. This is just the beginning. I know it will get worse, I know how bad it will hurt, and I know what my body will scream for. I always hope it won’t come back, always hope that it is gone for good, and I can hide in my world letting the architects of this existence build their strange constructs.

People say that it will pass, and that I shouldn’t think about it. These phrases along with cheer up make me wonder what the person saying it looks like without skin or better yet choking on their own tongue.

The question that is always asked is “Are you homicidal or Suicidal?” I have always wondered what would happen if I grinned at the person asking and answered with the truth “Both.” Something in my eyes always keeps them from asking – it also keeps the people close to me from pushing me too far for fear of me snapping which one day will happen.

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Not a Good Day

It is no secret that I work at night. It is also no secret that I am a dark person. Today is one of the days I remember just how crazy I am. It is a panicky shaky overwhelmed sort of crazy that overflows and washes over the inside of my body. It is not the pleasant warm rain that just makes you want to stand in it and enjoy the feeling. It is a if my blood has turned to acid eating its way through my body making the blood vessels seep as it burns through them searching for something leaving tattered blistered remains behind.

The uneasiness consumes me forcing me to want to hide inside something even if it is a building as twisted as I am. I am uncomfortable in my own skin as if it is a million insects attempting to crawl off my body on its own. The acid in my veins encourages it and if I looked in the mirror I doubt that the skin on my face would remain there. It would melt away slipping down and dropping away with wet clops only to scuttle away going to hide in the black spires of the world inside my mind. My face would be left with exposed muscles and bone without expression and without a sign of the pain wracking my already too fragile body and mind.

Darkness ripples around me like a poisonous cloud forcing its way into my lungs making it feel as if I am breathing through sand. Shards of the ever present colored glass slicing through poking grotesquely through the spaces between my ribs. Scarred bits of me slip open weeping tears of blood that my eyes cannot. The misshapen mouths split from skin open wetly as if they are shrieking with a pain of their own as they choke on my blood. As I watch them gape open I expect to see eyes peeking at me through the smaller ones that rest above the widest of the splits. Staring at me accusing me through the truth of the mirror.

I don’t know what they would say. I want to but I cannot understand it through their choking gurgles as blood stumbles out of them increasing in both amount and speed. I strain my ears to understand because just maybe they have something valuable to say.

openwoundYes, Mine

 

Subtle Kind of Crazy

Some days I am reminded that I am still crazy. Not the subtle kind of crazy that most people are but the screaming kind of crazy that most people run away from or are locked up for. In a way I am locked up. I allowed myself to be put into a straight jacket a long time ago and decided what the hell straight jackets can be fun when applied correctly. Then again most things can be fun when applied correctly.

The soft whisper of canvas knowing that you can’t move even if you tried. There is something inherently lovely about that in the right circumstance. Unfortunately this is not the right circumstance.

I am tempted to take a look to glance up into that slick blackness of his eyes and taste the darkness there. Wondering if the red on his lips is from the kisses he has recently given another or from running his tongue over the open wounds that the glass has left in my skin as I clawed my away out. I don’t want to see what is in his eyes though. Whether they are the deep blue that I love or the swirling black I know is hidden there, that is reserved only for me. I can lose myself in either one only one is more frightening than the other. The swirling memorizing black fascinates and hypnotizes me to the point of compliance, complacence. The danger in them is not even a thought.

His hand moves up to brush against my skin and I realize that I don’t know if it is the soft caress of his fingertips or if the razor is just to sharp to feel at first as it cuts deep into my flesh. I don’t know because I haven’t looked into his eyes. Nor do I want to. I realize now something that I should have known all along. I want to know which it is. I don’t care if it is a lover’s caress or if I am going to feel warm liquid slide down my neck soaking my chest. I almost risk a glance down wondering if the warm that I feel around my heart is emotion or my life draining from me.

blackeyeThis one is mine – Not my eye but my picture.

Why do you do this to me?

The cold stings my knuckles as I quietly tap on the door knowing that you will hear it. I admonish myself yet again for not using my palm, knowing the bone on would tapping wood only cause pain. Footsteps echo in my head as I hear you approach the door and turn the handle. You know it is me, you knew I was coming the polite call that I placed first is always a warning.

I often wonder how you deal with the thoughts that float through the air between us. I can’t read you like I read everyone else and this is a good thing because despite the reason I am here I really don’t want to know. The door opens in a rush of warmth, you must have the heat on or maybe it is just my body reacting to the cat like grace you use to step aside to let me in. I move forward slowly, cautiously, still afraid you will spook like the wild thing that you are. Walking past you making sure that no part of you touches me because the tiniest touch will have me undone. Sitting down on the worn sofa my hand automatically reaches out to pet the feline that stretches lazily on the armrest. Touching the feline is almost as natural a gesture as it was to touch you. Soon the others are there curling around my legs asking quietly for the attention that they know instinctively that I will give them because they are as much a part of you as anything else in the room.

I watch you for a moment as you move through the house only glancing up to meet your soft brown eyes with their almost girlish lashes for a moment as you set the usual choice of beverage down next to me. Not a word is spoken, even though your voice would send a shockwave up my spine. You move to the chair that normally sits near your desk. Your eyes flitting over what covers the wall before resting on me for a brief moment and then on the television that plays an inane drama that neither of us is interested in. After a moment of indecision you move closer to me making me wonder if you know how dangerous you are to me. How addictive you are.

I am almost sure that you do. You use it well to control me without making it seem like that is what you are doing. I watch you out of the corner of my eye, my hand still moving restlessly over the cat soft fur sliding through my fingers. You speak softly telling me about the things that you do and those that you wish that you were doing. I listen more to the timber of your voice than the actual words. One of these days you will catch me listening to you rather than what you are saying, trying to understand why the voices quiet and the glass doesn’t seem as sharp when I am this close to you. I am tempted to reach out and touch you but am afraid that you will dissolve into darknesscheshire

What Happens When I Can’t Handle It

I know I should be able to take it with a grain of salt but I can’t. It eats me alive when it is like this because it shows things that I don’t want to see. They have no idea what they do to me. There is no answer to this. I should have stayed in my quiet reclusive state without any contact.

This is one of those days that I have gotten nothing done and can feel the glass writhing under my skin trying to break free. The shards just cut and slice deeper and I can’t do anything to stop it and I am not sure I would if I could. Sometimes pain is better than anything else at least it lets me know that I am alive. Unfortunately I should have stayed in my quiet corner and in my quiet home deep underground with the glass surrounding me. At least I know it I know what it does and why it does it.

Tonight I am so very disappointed. But then again I should know what to expect from people by now.

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Would I feel lonely if the voices in my head stopped talking to me?

No for those who wonder I do not hear voices… well sometimes I do but I don’t believe what they tell me… ok so sometimes I believe them but never act on them… oh hell I do often act on them because most of the time they are right.

I often wonder at what point I stopped caring what others thought of me and at what point I stopped caring about what I thought of myself. It was probably the point when I realized that I am the person you don’t want to meet in a dark alley mostly because I am in that dark alley for purposes that might offend most people’s delicate sensibilities. I am the person who makes the statement “Good friends help you move, best friends help you move the bodies,” and means it.

My value lies in the pleasure I give others and only in that. I am the one who when you ask what my name is I look at you and say “what would you like it to be.”

The value I get from writing all of this down is that maybe one person will read it and think to themselves I am not alone. There is at least one other person who understands this. Yes this blog is not cheery, inspiring, or of any extrinsic value but somewhere along the line it might help someone feel. It doesn’t matter which feeling it inspires in some it will bring the creeping sense of hot breath on the back of your neck the second you realize something is standing right behind you in that second before you turn on the light.

In some it will bring the sense of belonging that only cold brick can bring as you are pushed up against the wall and fucked in an alley behind that bar that you frequent.

In some it will bring the desire to push against those little things that are commonly called limits and bend them until they break.

And in some it will simply bring understanding that pleasure and pain can exist simultaneously in a mind shattering way.

 

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Inviting the Darkness In

People say that you should not take LSD or hallucinogens because they bring up all of the dark and nasty thoughts that are in your subconscious. When I was younger I tried LSD several times and liked it. I am a dark

 sort of person and therefore write and read dark sort of things. I like poking at the thing that resides in the blackest portion of everyone’s

brain and seeing what comes out. It’s fun. If you don’t want to know what is lurking in at least one person’s mind don’t read what I write. There is a dark corner in all of us I just dragged mine into the light introduced myself and asked it if it wanted me to get to know it a little bit more over say afternoon tea. That was a long time ago and now that dark corner and I are very good fr

iends. Some people run from darkness others embrace it and I was never one for running

.

 

monsterwedit