What does it mean when the only sane explanation is that you, yourself, are completely insane?
cut down and cast aside
i sow friends like wild corn and burn them when the summer comes - raking through the ashes trying to find the ring i dropped last spring during the harvest season.
I can't do it. I can't keep this up. I don't know how long they've been following me, but these mudtongued demons that plague and snap at my heels, they catch my clothes and tear at my eyes when I blink - when the darkness bursts in like hot dry, stale echoes - They whisper my name and laugh at my feeble attempts to keep my footing,, to stay afloat, to stop from falling into oblivion.
Logical reasoning - I hate myself. Why else would I put myself out there, time and time again, and TRUST HUMAN SCUM who have NEVER done anything but HURT, LIE AND STEAL from me. I hate you all. I hate myself. I alienate the people I should be keeping close. I focus on the wrong things, chase the wrong dogs from dark alleys and wind up but nothing to show for it but another scar and a little bit less of my mind to rely on. Why else would I treat my body like this? Hypocrisy, too many drugs and not enough sleep, poor diet and forced solitude?
She was right, you see, but for the wrong reasons. I don't think it's immaturity. It's just cowardice and the inability to man up and fucking shoot myself already, so I'm doing my best to kill myself slowly and accidentally, while deperately maintaining this facade of I'm-in-control.
i've lost my balance
and I'm falling down a well.
Every time I try and fix something I just make it worse for myself, and dig deeper into the patience of those who care about me - Who, i might add, are dropping like flies, through my own doing and others.
I know what this is. This is where I was in year ten. This, is what the doctors call [i]bipolarism[/i], with self-destructive tendencies. I can feel it, and I know when I'm not altogether there, but that doesn't mean I pay any attention. I make decisions on impulse, and fifteen minutes later know I've done the wrong thing but pride stops me from going back, from apologising, or frmo pulling out of a deal.
I hate this place. I hate you. I hate myself. I don't care what you think any more. This is not some self-righteous cry for pity. This is a brief section of insight so you all (however few still bother following my self-induged dribblings) can understand precisely why I pulled the trigger.
Click? Click? Click.
Live another day. Better luck next time. Give it another twelve hours and I'll have regretted this post, those actions, and be thanking whoever was looking out for me. Not long after I'll be rummaging again for cold metal comfort.
i shall go and rummage my room for more drugs. I can still breathe, and that won't do at all.