I’m me, but I’m not me.
It’s worse this time. Does that mean that I’m crazier than I used to be?
He looks at me confused.
I can’t even muster up the strength to explain, to reassure. I can’t use my words. My mouth doesn’t want to speak, my hand doesn’t want to write. My arm feels heavy, my head too…my eyes…my throat…my conscience. I want to hurt everything, them and me.
The flashes are here.
The urges too.
They want me to stick knives in my leg again.
They want me to hurt myself.
I never realised just how much my pills help me. They are literally saving my life. If I could crawl back inside my head, I would today but it’s too dangerous. I will get lost, there is no light or clear path and I don’t know my way around anymore. My therapist thinks I must have some idea as I keep telling her where the dead ends are. She wants me to explore it like I’ve never been there. Does she know what she’s asking? Why would I go back to a place so barren? So cold and dark? There are more than skeletons in there and if you know there is danger then you should stay away, right?
I need to get all this out, my pain is showing on my face. He said I look like I’m about to cry. I would rather him think that than know the truth. The truth is, the only feeling I have today is hate; the angry kind of hate. No love, no heartache. Pride, sneaking in there is a little pride but mostly rage. Impotent rage which feels like an oxymoron but that’s the only way I can describe it. My body doesn’t feel like my own, let alone feel like it’s attached to my head or brain.
I want to sleep.
I want to eat as I’m hungry but I can’t get full.
Eating holds nothing; the pain of hunger reminds me I’m here.
Clench…body is frustrated.Why?