Purging

This entry was written blind… I haven’t spell checked it or did anything like that… it’s exactly like it came out of my head.

I haven’t done this in a while….

I’m a good girl… I take my pills, two pills, once a day, white and blue, said to keep the crazy out, to give me distance without letting me float away and it’s not working. Oh, give it some time they say, it’ll work sooner or later they say, and while I’m giving it time and letting it work, my heart is being ripped in two and my blood is spilling out over everything.

When I’m good, I’m very, very, good, but when I’m bad, I’m worse.

There’s supposed to be some distance betwen us, we are not two people, one soul, we are two people two souls, three people, three souls, and if that’s the case, then why can I taste your fear and dispare as though it comes from my own lips. I don’t want this. I don’t want your hurt, your tears, your fear to be a part of me. I don’t want to be you and I don’t want to feel you.

But then I’m callus and unfeeling. Am I unfeeling? Is there so much of you and your feelings that there’s n oroom for my own. I can no longer seperate myself from you and seperate you from she and she from me and all of us are balled into a single container screaming “This is who we are! This is how we are! Feel us like we feel us!” I don’t want to feel us, I want to feel me. I want to know that my feelings and my thoughts are my own and are not merely there because of reactions to your thoughts and feelings.

I’m cold.

Tubba is walking in circles, falling over, and they are hurting. Court is silent and drawing into himself, Mom is crying and me? I am numb. I feel. I know I feel. I have to feel, that’s my pet, my Tubba, one of my babies. That is my reason for living and breathing right now… the fact that I need to take care of my hamsters helps me get up in the morning… and now she’s hurting, if not dying, and I can’t feel because I’m surrouded by blame and hurt and pain.

I open my heart and look into it and I see nothing. I see a space where a heart should be that is strangely empty. Thisspace for rent. My heart skipped out and has a sign that says “free to a good home” written across it. It’s on its way to Texas right now, where it’ll never find a home for it.

I want to cry. Why am I wanting to cry? Is it for Tubba, or is it for myself, the monster as I say to myself, “should we spend hte money for the vet? Should I make the decision? Would they forgive me if I made the decision?” I want to rally against God and Fate and all of those dieties that sit upon the mountain, judging us. I am not strong enough to survive this! Are you trying to shatter me into a thousand fragments so that you can pave your road with my will and soul and start anew? We’ll call it Tombstone Marble and be on our way.

Oh god. Oh God. Oh GOD. I cannot deal with this. I cannot let myself be taken in by any more hurt and pain and I cannot allow myself to be suckered into their pain. But they’re here with me, what am I supposed to do? Do I hold myself aloof from their pain, hide myself in the room and pray for it all to be over? That’s what I want to do. That’s what I need to do. I need to hide and rest and heal and pretend that I’m strong enough to do this. But that’s not what they need. Mom needs a shoulder to cry on, someone to cling to, they need me. I need me. Do they need me? Would they even notice if I locked the door and didn’t come out, but to eat and drink? Am I heartless because I don’t cry for my hamster, because I’m pulling myself away from her at this moment of need?

I call them my “babies” duesn’t that mean learning to let go whe nthe time comes? I don’t know… I don’t know anything. Those are the words I scream when people ask me about how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking or what I’m doing. They ask me “Why?” Why why why why… and all I can say is I. Don’t. Know. And it’s not a lie either.

I don’t want to be trapped with only my thoughts for company. The wall I beuilt is great at keeping people out, but it also keeps me in and I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to be here at all, in any way shape or form, anymore.

I want to find Haven. I want to dream and then step into my dreams and let them lead the way. If I could be guarentee to dream always, I’d find a way to make myself sleep forever. But not all dreams are good ones. For every dream of Haven, there’s two dreams of pain. I can’t handle any more pain, not now.

Please God, if there is a God, let this hurting stop. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.