Journal Entry #18

Today, I was just walking down the street and felt an overwhelming sense of failure–sadness. I don’t know why I keep having these days/moments of going in and out of this state of being. I am tired of being beaten down by myself, but I don’t know how to stop. I am tired of crying, but look for anything to supplement my agony because apparently, I believe I deserve to be in this state of torment. I drink myself stupid then take anxiety pills to chill me out. That’s not a good option, I know, but it is what works at the moment. Then again, that’s the problem with a moment, they don’t last. I am a time bomb and I can hear the slow ticking and it just takes the smallest thing to set me off when I’m in that moment of despair. Raging beast lives within my mirrored image, ready to ripe to shreds any inanimate object just so I won’t hurt someone physically. The flesh on my bones are rough from the years of pain my body has gone through. Others, I don’t know their struggles; their lives might not have been cursed like mine and maybe their skin isn’t so tough. Out of fear of their safety, I retreat into myself—fueling the bomb that wants to explode. I do have will power and control. With the help of therapy, I know that now, but who knows how long I will be able to hold onto a system that is merely a façade for who I really am. This demon living in this broken body waiting to be let out of its core to experience the world the way it was supposed to be lived. The only thing that I want is to be happy, but that is the one and only thing that I can’t have. I don’t know how to be. I can tell someone I love them, but how real is it? In my head, I see these things as fantasies. In reality, I want to be left alone, but I’m plague by the excessive banging in my own head; telling me to cut deep and breath, run away and leave this crap behind. I ask myself where can a person run to, to get away from his/herself? Thus, I end up walking around aimlessly. If I’m lucky, I have a car at my disposal to distill my solitude behind metal framing. At least, I can find comfort in a roomy vehicle and, of course take the stress off my legs.

The things I think about are unnatural. They always have been. Too afraid to share, too disturbed personally, to really care what the world thinks of me. I’m a walking contradiction that has no real hope of ever achieving peace because this demon inside me, as strong and persuasive, will not allow me to go on my merry way of living a “normal” life. I have suffered my entire life for one thing or another, why should this be any different? Maybe peace isn’t something I should be after or can truly obtain. Maybe, a better quest would be to find out–what is the real picture, the painting behind it’s rundown replica that I have created for myself? Who am I am really?

Journal Entry #17

I feel like I’m making pill cocktails just to even focus, to go to sleep at any time of the day now and it’s causing me to have anxiety in the worse way. The only way I could sleep last night was with the light on. So many questions without any consistency in resolutions–I am truly desperate for answers.

Nightmare Scene

Nightmare Scene

headless ghosts captivated
by the compelled torture
I enter in nightly
marvel at the blood-stained
sleeves I’ve created
and wear proud

tell their stories
of mutated
pierced by gunfire
punctured by half-dull knives
jumping off buildings
with limps snapping in disarray

I simply smile
with obscured pleasure

one day, I too, will emulate

Journal Entry #16

Sleep has come easier with the meds I’m on, but my mind is still running in its own way vía dreams and nightmares.  So I still feel tired all the time; I apparently look like it too as I’m consistently told I need to get rest by co-workers.

The dreams and nightmares are usually faceless–ranging from murder to fucking up, yet another relationship.  However, in all honesty, my mind is my best friend. Allowing myself to be totally objective, my dreams/nightmares show me glimpes of the future. They always have, even when I was kid. They also show me what kind of torment lay behind the walls I’ve built so I don’t have to deal with the anomaly that is my existence.  I could never hide from myself, just lie and pretend.

At any rate, I feel things or thoughts are becoming more intense even though I release everything in my therapy sessions or maybe that’s what I want to convince myself is the truth.

Journal Entry #13

As I get closer and closer to feeling like I have to move, the more anxiety I’m getting.  The more anxiety I’m getting, the more scared I’m getting.   A buddy of mine told me today that I can’t let my past dictate my future and as much as I know he is right, I still know me.  I am afraid of failure; I failed once on my own, I am not allowed to do it again. I have all these questions about can I really make it alone–beyond finances–I’m talking emotionally.  I had my mom, then my ex, then myself (i cracked and failed) then my mom again and now just me (and I’m an emotional mess).  How can I do it with just me?  I just don’t have that type of confidence in my emotional state yet, this is something I know must be done.  Questions without answers and I’m running out of time.

Suicide Watch

Suicide Watch

noose-knot hanging
from ceiling fan
won’t hold weight

the edge
of the blade sparkling
sharp between thumb
and forefinger creates
a chamber of torture
not trained to bear

the bang of this gun
rings loud in ears
sensitive to the sight
of mistakes
by a quivering hand

left with these pills
and scripts to fill
impartial to the thought
is it me I really want to kill?