09/24/2012

My day…

My night?

Blood. On my hand, my thighs, an unknown location.

I had an image of a razor sliding down the inside of my throat. It was my hand holding the razor, my hand sliding it down my own throat. I saw it. And it scared me, its a sick image, a sick thought…

I stepped away from the image. The thought.

But I only stepped away. Its not gone, its just over there somewhere. I hope that I can stay away from it.

 I wanted to be in bed early, but that never happens.

I made a mess, and I had to clean it up.

My brain made a mess…a really long time ago. I am still trying to clean that up. Ever heard of the everlasting gobstopper?…..This is an everlasting mess.

I only want the dim purple glow tonight.

…My day?

I hoped for a good one.

But other plans were in store for me I suppose.

Starting with a strong grip from my you know who….

"I hate you"

I didn’t have the energy or the words to say it back. I could only accept the words.

I cried before therapy. In the car, without music. I almost never drive in silence.

I pretty much put on a fake smile for the one place I can actually express honesty. I don’t know why I did this.

I don’t know.

My evening?

I tried to use safe distractions.

Art.

It did its job of distracting me for a while. But my hand hurts. I have been gripping the pen so tightly.

Last night?

I dreampt of water again. It was a lake. It was beautiful, but no one else seemed to appreciate its beauty. I couldn’t understand why. Why couldn’t anybody else see what I saw? How could they walk away from it. I couldn’t stay out of it. I wanted to live in it forever like a fish. It was my home. Eventually I had to leave the water. It was awful. And I was angry.

Yesterday afternoon?

It hurt. What I was told. From a very important person in my life. She said she was ashamed of me.

It stung when she spoke those words.

Why are you ashamed of me? Thats what I wanted to shout at her. That, and fuck off. But I don’t shout, nor do I speak up. I take it all in and keep it. Just like you are not suppose to do.

Another very important person in my life was right there with her when she said it. She didn’t speak up for me. She said nothing. Is she ashamed of me too?

Or was it because like me, you don’t know how to speak up either?

I guess I lerned that from my mother…or didn’t learn I should say.

I know I did nothing to be ashamed of. But the words still hurt. I had words to share with her too, but they never made it out of my mouth. I don’t know how to release the words.

I can however, release vomit.

Vomit (or blood) is the words. It’s the easiest form of pseudo words.