I feel like a car that’s missing a vital pipe for functioning. Keep blowing out black smoke or bursting into flame, and no one can really figure out exactly what piece I’m missing and we’re all just desperately guessing and pretending everything will be fine.
So I guess none of us are really listening. My bones are aching. I just want to drink more. Want somebody to understand this desperation. Staring at vodka and hiding blades underneath my pillow. Resisting both. Trying desperately to hang on to that strength that flutters by. Trying to feel. Not to let myself keep feeling numb. Maybe if I feel while I’ve been drinking I can feel while sober. But nothing. Nothing but burning desire to drink more, to break open that razor and love the flesh within the way I used to. Keep slipping. Forgetting to eat again. Pretty sure it’s an accident but look at my behaviour and how I’m feeling. Can’t find a reason or a purpose. Just trying to avoid the present, the past and the future. Just keep drinking and stop worrying. If I stay drunk and stay visibly fucked up they’ll understand. It’s hard to explain that the open wounds only litter my heart now, that every waking hour I’m fighting harder than ever before. I want to give up, but that scares me just a bit more than trying to live.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m making the right decisions with you. I’m actually terrified of how I’m going to handle you.
It’s days like these that words will never be able to describe.
It’s sad because I can’t post on tumblr anymore because too many people I know in real life know it.
It was 10 years ago my Nana died. It devastated me. I didn’t remember that until right now. Two hours after the tenth anniversary of her death. I was supposed to go out tonight, with my friends. They all bailed. I’ve got seven caps and a 2’6 of my favourite jamaican rum. I’m contemplating the stupid. The overwhelming pain in my chest is brutal.
Why do you still haunt me? Why do these images continue to float through my subconscious and feed on my sanity? I still see it all as if it was still happening. Maybe it is. I can’t trust other people, even if it’s a comforting touch. I still lurking images of his face, and the smell of him. I can’t have sex anymore. I thought I was okay. But I can’t trust myself with even that. I’m still fighting his images, still fighting the way he hurt me. And I inadvertently hurt the people I really care about. Which is making me fucking sick. I don’t want to do anymore. I hate that I let this affect other people. I hate that I didn’t realize it before. I hate him. But I think I hate myself more..
My bones are weary.
You fed wet concrete into them.
Heavier than stone.
So when you left I couldn’t follow.
But you didn’t realize I’d stop moving all together.
I need to stop having nightmares all the fucking time.
So I’ve discovered that when I get really anxious I bite myself to the point of bruises..
Just let me die at this point. Celebrated the new year alone. Celebrating my life alone.