Friday, September 01, 2017

Whispers Heard as Screams

I'm going on record declaring this complete bull shit.


I don't know what to say really.  I don't know what to feel either.

Maybe I am really okay, and it didn't hurt as badly as it seems.  Or, maybe I'm covering up the greatest pain we've ever known throughout the gift of numbness.

I'm sure I am being dramatic.  It's true; I'm not crying.  No, I'm not overly anxious.  Surely there is nothing wrong.

I mean, what damage has been done? 

Maybe the lack of feelings are because the damage is more intellectual, more cerebral.  Emotionally it's no big deal, but in my head and my thoughts I know I have been betrayed by others, and I have also betrayed myself, and by extension . . . .  Shhh.  The wind whispers:  dirty, unclean, contaminated.

You may address me as "Whore."
I may never whisper again. 

I know why you whisper, and I am sorry.  I know who you are, little one.  You are someone who doesn't want to be here anymore.  I don't blame you.  But why don't you want to be here? 

People will see my dirtiness.  Some put on an act that they enjoy it.  Maybe that is why she is confused.  What she knows and what she feels are at war with one another, and I am collateral damage.  Someone is always sacrificed. 

I sense you staring into space.  Where are you going in your mind?

Escape while I can.  Things are calm for now, but soon it will either be complete anxiety or a crushing depression that will descend upon you, and I can't survive another blow tonight.

Did you take over with Daniel?

I took over afterwards when no one else would, just like back then.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

I AM the Old Struggle

This weekend was an exercise in futility.  Still reeling from the session with Therapist written about  here,  I unsuccessfully navigated a weekend that was filled with meaning and importance for me, and I failed.

I keep going over it in my mind, twisting it, turning it, unknotting it, what was said by Therapist  and I'm starting to feel angry about the session.

I don't know. I don't know.  I don't know. I. don't. know.

My guard is up.  My mind is closed clam shut.

I reverted back to whom I don't want to be.

Fuck all that.

These words are ramble letters for others, but they mean something to me.

I am struggling like old times again, a place I had every reason to think I escaped.

And now I embrace the notion of death.  I welcome him, I dare him to visit me.  He will not be disappointed.

Please someone rescue me from this hell.  I am drowning and can not make it myself out of the water.
Perhaps that indicates I want to live.  Shit fuck hell, maybe I do.  but certainly not like this.  and if this is all there is, no matter what that fucking therapist says, I don't want to do it.

I need to  be rescued.  I want to be rescued, but I'm afraid desire alone won't make it possible.