Post by bloodangel666 on Aug 2, 2009 16:56:49 GMT -5
Have you ever had that feeling where you're feeling so sick that you can feel the bile rise in the back of your throat and no matter what you do you cant make it go away? Well I have. I can feel it even now as I try to forget. Forget my life, my mistakes and even the people in it. It's as if I can't make myself feel better, that I've done so many things wrong that I make myself sick. Not so much that they have made me sick, so much as the fact that I've done them. Terrible things that I could have controlled had I the self control and will to do so. I sicken myself, the scum of the earth summed up in one tiny individual, too afraid of getting help to stop and think. I've found that the word "No" is quite avid in my vocabulary but I don't know the meaning of it. Or maybe it's that my body doesn't care enough to listen. So here I am, sitting, with my head in my hands as the bile rises up my gullet once more. All I can do is lean back and swallow it.
Here, is not the place to let it out. Here is not the place to cry and here is not the place to explode. I suppose I should laugh. I mean how many people rise three separate emotions out of someone, especially when that someone is themselves? I should be given a record for such a feat, but I'll hold it inside. I won't tell anyone and I'll keep it bottled until I can be alone once more and let it all out.
Alone.... That's what I haven't been in a long time... Why? Because I get depressed when I'm alone. I have to face what I am and that in turn makes me depressed. I am the perfect monster created by the perfect circumstances. If I had been raised in any other place I would still be innocent, the sweet little angel that people think I am. I wouldn't have thoughts about suicide or destroying what little of my mind I have left. If I didn't have the family I was born into, I might have turned out differently. On the other hand I thank God because I may have turned out much worse. I may have been on the streets at a young age, I may have hated myself even more and turned to needles or anything to take the pain away. At this moment I wish I could be alone, just to let it out, to face my demons. But I can not. It's one thing I will not be able to do for quite awhile and until that time I need to be honest with myself. I'm tired, I'm emotionless, I'm spiteful.
Slowly I pull back and I slide my fingers through my hair. The only physical grip I can get on myself. I close my eyes but the memories come back before my eyes. I push them away best I can, maybe in a few weeks they'll be gone and I'll never bring them up again. Maybe I need a shrink? Nah, It'll only lead to another corrupted life and possibly I would end up in prison. Not that it would be much of a change from the one I've created around myself. What would be the difference? People sitting around watching me pee in a cramped ten by six cell? Ha, that would be the only difference I suppose.
There's Smirnoff on the table again. The bottle is empty, so is the beer next to it. I drink too much, that's no surprise, but oddly enough I'm not an alcoholic. Cigarettes and joints line the ashtray, their scent heavy and soothing, but I no longer smoke and I have never been attracted to pot as much as most people I know. My vice comes from a deeper side of me, a much deeper side. People say that my vice doesn't exist but I know it does and in my heart I wish I could stop, but it's my drug, my end, my addiction. It isn't blood that I seek, it isn't murder, food or even attention. I will admit that I often find myself indulging in more than one of the Sins of life but those I can stop, those I can control. Even the drinking I can control, my body takes care of that for me. My body takes care of most things for me. My brain just has to remember to survive.
And so I sit, my head throbbing for no reason, my vision blurry and my heart wracked with pain. Not regret, but anger and pain over what I have done. Soon I will harden myself to it as I always end up doing. I will sit back and laugh nervously if anyone brings it up, but I will never let anyone know how I feel. I will never tell anyone of the guilt and sorrow I feel for my own cravings and the lack of self i seem to have. I detatch myself from people because they don't know how I feel, they don't understand me and they will not help me. And so, without the help, without the guidence, I remain stumbling stupidly and blind down the dark hallways that I call my mind, locking things off and contemplating what to do next, where to go from here. My mind always narrowing to the one aspect that people don't understand and are not willing to understand. I am a slave to myself, I can not break away, I can not be fixed and I can not find help. I will wander this way forever and though I may be labeled many things in life, I can only hope it will not be on a toe tag in the morgue. I do not wish for death, just release. And though release seems to be out of my grasp, I can at least accept myself for what I am and that is why I have no regrets.
It's nearly silent now as the clock ticks away the hours and I find that the bile refuses to recceed. If only I didn't disgust myself this much. If only I could feel comfortable in my own skin. I will forgive myself for what I have done, but it will take time and it won't be a simple task. If you can not trust yourself, you have nothing. I have nothing. And so I will continue to remain. I will duck my head low and I will listen to those around me, reminding me of what I am. It will never end, but I can be strong enough to deal with it. I can block them out if I choose.
Soon sleep will take over, and I will forget for those short hours. When I wake, I will scrub myself raw and then I will try to regain that sense of lost memories, only to find it has returned. I'll have to be strong, I'll have to do it again and again, but eventually I'll be used to not being OK, and when that happens, I'll no longer be me.
Here, is not the place to let it out. Here is not the place to cry and here is not the place to explode. I suppose I should laugh. I mean how many people rise three separate emotions out of someone, especially when that someone is themselves? I should be given a record for such a feat, but I'll hold it inside. I won't tell anyone and I'll keep it bottled until I can be alone once more and let it all out.
Alone.... That's what I haven't been in a long time... Why? Because I get depressed when I'm alone. I have to face what I am and that in turn makes me depressed. I am the perfect monster created by the perfect circumstances. If I had been raised in any other place I would still be innocent, the sweet little angel that people think I am. I wouldn't have thoughts about suicide or destroying what little of my mind I have left. If I didn't have the family I was born into, I might have turned out differently. On the other hand I thank God because I may have turned out much worse. I may have been on the streets at a young age, I may have hated myself even more and turned to needles or anything to take the pain away. At this moment I wish I could be alone, just to let it out, to face my demons. But I can not. It's one thing I will not be able to do for quite awhile and until that time I need to be honest with myself. I'm tired, I'm emotionless, I'm spiteful.
Slowly I pull back and I slide my fingers through my hair. The only physical grip I can get on myself. I close my eyes but the memories come back before my eyes. I push them away best I can, maybe in a few weeks they'll be gone and I'll never bring them up again. Maybe I need a shrink? Nah, It'll only lead to another corrupted life and possibly I would end up in prison. Not that it would be much of a change from the one I've created around myself. What would be the difference? People sitting around watching me pee in a cramped ten by six cell? Ha, that would be the only difference I suppose.
There's Smirnoff on the table again. The bottle is empty, so is the beer next to it. I drink too much, that's no surprise, but oddly enough I'm not an alcoholic. Cigarettes and joints line the ashtray, their scent heavy and soothing, but I no longer smoke and I have never been attracted to pot as much as most people I know. My vice comes from a deeper side of me, a much deeper side. People say that my vice doesn't exist but I know it does and in my heart I wish I could stop, but it's my drug, my end, my addiction. It isn't blood that I seek, it isn't murder, food or even attention. I will admit that I often find myself indulging in more than one of the Sins of life but those I can stop, those I can control. Even the drinking I can control, my body takes care of that for me. My body takes care of most things for me. My brain just has to remember to survive.
And so I sit, my head throbbing for no reason, my vision blurry and my heart wracked with pain. Not regret, but anger and pain over what I have done. Soon I will harden myself to it as I always end up doing. I will sit back and laugh nervously if anyone brings it up, but I will never let anyone know how I feel. I will never tell anyone of the guilt and sorrow I feel for my own cravings and the lack of self i seem to have. I detatch myself from people because they don't know how I feel, they don't understand me and they will not help me. And so, without the help, without the guidence, I remain stumbling stupidly and blind down the dark hallways that I call my mind, locking things off and contemplating what to do next, where to go from here. My mind always narrowing to the one aspect that people don't understand and are not willing to understand. I am a slave to myself, I can not break away, I can not be fixed and I can not find help. I will wander this way forever and though I may be labeled many things in life, I can only hope it will not be on a toe tag in the morgue. I do not wish for death, just release. And though release seems to be out of my grasp, I can at least accept myself for what I am and that is why I have no regrets.
It's nearly silent now as the clock ticks away the hours and I find that the bile refuses to recceed. If only I didn't disgust myself this much. If only I could feel comfortable in my own skin. I will forgive myself for what I have done, but it will take time and it won't be a simple task. If you can not trust yourself, you have nothing. I have nothing. And so I will continue to remain. I will duck my head low and I will listen to those around me, reminding me of what I am. It will never end, but I can be strong enough to deal with it. I can block them out if I choose.
Soon sleep will take over, and I will forget for those short hours. When I wake, I will scrub myself raw and then I will try to regain that sense of lost memories, only to find it has returned. I'll have to be strong, I'll have to do it again and again, but eventually I'll be used to not being OK, and when that happens, I'll no longer be me.