Haunted with torturous temptations. Beating against walls, rusted shut cage bars. Padlocks and ducttape. Release me. Overpowered by weakness. Bleakness. Surrender to inevitable. Puppetry. Chattering into space, into walls. Friends reside in the walls. Walls crumbling and closing in. Clinging to comfort, wrapped in warmth, not close enough to calm. Want to be enveloped. Buried in mess, destruction. Aftermath. The memory. Forgotten. Anemic, lifeless relationships. Move on.
Brutal. That’s how I feel this post will come about. I’ve succeeded at being transparent for the most part; it has brought people closer to me and it has pushed them away. Depression, voices, delusions have tormented me. It has wrapped its ugly, rotting tendrils around this whole process. Living … that process. Words cannot describe how I loathe it. I cannot possibly make people understand that my future is blank. There is nothing there. It’s so real that it beats on my chest, shrouds out any hope that I might have.
If I could be invisible and soak in the presence of healthy … friendships, family. Alone, undisturbed, unintrusive … just float.
This writing isn’t working. It’s broken. Words on a screen. I could so easily delete everything … invisibility.
I do not feel right or wanted, but by only a few people. I am 31 and this has never been not the case. I’ve never been called pretty (but by those few people). I’ve rarely felt valued in a group. I’ve been talked at, been talked over … have listened too much when I desperately needed to be heard. I feel neglected at times so I drift away and find ways to self soothe. I find myself rocking. I find myself … lost. Frustrated. I feel like faking a smile to be accepted. And my jaw tenses and aches when I struggle not to cry. I am rarely the one that’s wanted … or called … it is exhausting to reach out, but when I do I feel hopeful … and it is like reliving trauma when no one responds. And I turn invisible.
I love you guys. That’s all. Just wanted ya all to know. And in case you’re reading this and haven’t heard it from anyone else today … maybe the past 2 days … maybe weeks, then hear it from me. Cause hearing it matters. It is the first step to believing it.
It has been too long. Working every day.
Outside looking in. Discontent. Caged. Somewhere between human and not. Bouts of anxiety, waves of defeat. Dread.
Still injury free … I forget how long. The accidental owie keeps me on my toes. Tip tip trip little girl.
Crazy, less than polite dog at work = wrist injury = splint = thoughts of wrist banging = clever way to hide inflicted wounds.
My mind goes there. Constant moving train.
Lack of depth perception = off balance = burning scrape to back of my arm = huge bruise = signs of physical abuse.
Cat litter explosion = eyeball invasion = stabbing pain = infection … crusty rotting holeinmybrain infection = rusty spoon.
Hot packing the infection site with my amputee teddy bear, warm from the microwave. It brought such comfort I fell asleep … and apparently it was still hot enough that it left a burn on my neck and shoulder. Red raised bumps … not so severe that the burns would burst with clear fluids, but bad enough to look no better two days later. Makes me remember clearly those ritualistic episodes … and the agony of the healing process. Messy it was. A cleansing and a tainting.
I am tired. Off kilter. Lord knows I need a hug. Answers. Clarity. Hope. Something more than all these jumbled words.
I wonder what it would be like to have fear … pure panicked, wild fear due to instinct … with no ability to reason or use logic or truth … just the fear with no hope. What a horrifying thing.
There is … or should I say was a fox family living in the woods behind our house. One by one over the past month or two, I would see their bodies in the first stages of decomposition along the highway that runs in front of my house. 4 total. Prior to the fatalities, the family would bounce around the backyard, hunting moles and tackling each other. They were almost cat like in a lot of ways. So fun to watch. Oblivious to danger and risk … there is one fox cub left. The past 3 hours blood curdling screams have been coming from the woods … my guess is a cub. Alone, driven by fear. Too young to be alone.
It is causing me discomfort to think about it. I hate the thought of being left alone. Like truly alone. It is still a fear I struggle with … creeps up in unexpected ways. It is triggering and I want to relieve the stress. The anxiety is bubbling and I want to erupt in tears. But again, it doesn’t happen when I need it too. At least, I can attempt to process through writing here …
I’m glad I’m human and am capable of devising more than one way to process emotions. To know absolutely nothing but fear and instinct … what a cruel way to live …
Sometimes, all that’s left to do is let the tears drip onto the pillow while staring wordlessly at the ceiling shrouded in black. If the tears even dare come.
Struggling with emotions too extreme vs none at all when I need them.
So much in my head but can’t put into words so I’ve been silent.
Decaying into nothing.