What is rage. ^trigger warning?

Rage.

Everyone’s felt it. Everyone will probably feel it again. Some might share the same rage experiences, others might differ.

Rage for me, is something I’m used to, no that’s I lie, I’m still not used to it.

It starts in my bones, my hips, specifically, they ache, and in like one ironically graceful movement, my head will turn, like I’m trying to release the tension building in my neck, I’ll often exhale loudly.

It’s like a warning sign, that a beast is building inside my body, and screaming inside my head. I lose all patience, I grind my teeth out of frustration.

I try to suppress it, push it down deeper, so deep inside of me that I’ll have a little control.

It only makes me rage more when I realise that I’m only sitting on my bed, nothing is happening, nothing is triggering me, that confusion fills my head, causing me to lose the fight against myself.

I’m irritated at my own presence. Someone is shouting at me to stop, but I’m all alone. I feel like crying because I can’t control this emotion, building momentum inside of me, clawing it’s way to my skin, tearing holes in my body to escape.

I’ll want to scream as I slap myself in the head, my hair entwining between my figures as I pull on it, fighting to not rip it completely from my scalp.

I try with all I am to just count.
1, 2, 3 I will never make it to 10.

My whole body is aching, screaming, I want to lash out, I want to hurt myself, I want to hurt anyone in my presence.
I want to break anything and everything that my trembling hands can reach.

I try to suppress it, I’ll hit myself, I’ll hurt myself. I fight with all I am to stay away from anyone.

But, I just can’t control it. I just snap. I explode, so quickly from the inside out, my heart starts racing, I feel like I’ve just injected a shot of meth into my arm, like I’m indestructible, my hands no longer shake, my nails dig into my palms as my fists form, as they blindly connect with any object in my path. Everything I destroy is so sickly satisfying, to the point, where I’m sexually craving the same treatment from someone else, I want hands around my throat, the centre of my sexual need, completely abused.

My throat is burning from my screaming and my verbal abuse at inanimate objects.

Then, it’s black. Everything feels black, I fall to my knees as I feel the adrenaline no longer pumping through my veins and I just fall into myself. The pain starts.

My head body, my body aching, the blood, the things I’ve destroyed, tears will stream down my face, my body trembling as guilt and shame begins to cover me, like a blanket. Hiding my body completely, consuming me again, with another emotion, caused by myself. I hate myself more. That voice starts whispering, to just give up, just end it. I feel scared, no, I’m terrified. Just laying there, listening to my heart, my head, plead with me to just end it all.

That’s, that’s what rage feels like to me.

I’m scared to let people stay near me. It happens so quickly. I don’t feel like myself. I’m not even sure who “myself” actually is.

Standard

Selfish bitch.

When I’m talking to people, I’m flooded with messages, calls, IM’s from social media asking for my advice.

I, for starters have no fucking idea why they ask me, most of them literally don’t listen, then proceed to message back, admitting they wished the had of listened.

Secondly, all I do is ask them questions, and awkwardly jump to an option that seems different, but realistic and favourable in my opinion. It’s basic logic. “No, don’t go have sex with the girl that cheated on you”

But, I guess I’m selfish in the sense, that not a single person asks me how I’m doing, if I’m okay, maybe I need advice? Maybe I what someone to just “talk” to.

Being a friend is usually defined as

a person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically one exclusive of sexual or family relations.

The roles of a friend, usually include – your personal mental health saver, friends act as your personal therapist. Who you mostly likely tell your dirty secrets to. You know that you can go to them for advice and for perspective on a situation you are facing. Friends should defend you, stick by you, and always have your back, they should be consistent motivators, supporters and companions, and in my case, thought provokers.

But, what so you do when it’s obvious that it is one sided? Obviously, they aren’t considered a friend, because the personal gain is purely the point of focus. Should two people share an individual personal gain from a friendship, or is it just something that we have just come to expect from another person?

Is it because we are selfish? Am I selfish? How do you categorise a relationship between two people, which only benefits one? Would an outsider looking in consider the relationship as one side being used by the other?

Why do I put so much fucking thought into this shit?

Some might even say, that I am a good friend, because I provide all the right ” qualities” a friend is expected to process. Maybe, I could argue, that my friends are just bad friends?

I’m fairly certain that it’s just me. It usually is.

Standard

I don’t even know anymore.

I think about death, so much, I’ve tried to end my life, and I have no doubt that I will again, and maybe one day, I won’t be so useless.

Or, my time will come naturally, either way death is a part of life. Even though the thought of death often fills my mind. I’m terrified, even though my fear is decreasing, I hope it never stops.

It’s ironic because I’m worried no one will remember me, I haven’t done anything remotely worth remembering. The world will keep spinning and the people consumed in their lives will keep on living, which is hilarious because it’s what’s happening now. I’m so confused about myself. What am I doing? Where am I going? WHAT AM I EVEN THINKING?

It’s like, I was born backwards. It’s like it’s a one-way-street, everyone is going in the right direction, sometimes making a few wrong turns, but getting back on the road, while I’m being pulled, kicking and screaming by something that I can’t see or comprehend, sometimes just letting it drag me, others, I’m grabbing to people, begging, pleading.

It’s like I have this inability to communicate, like being born backwards is making me talk backwards, no one is understanding me and they are just looking at me confused before they move away or leave. They always leave.

Posting what I was feeling used to make me feel, now the only thing I feel is numb. I have no energy. My body is tired, my mind is exhausted. What’s the point of talking if we cannot even speak the same language. I cannot even say I have lost my will to fight, because I don’t even think I had it to begin with.

I do not wish for someone to understand, my body aches at the thought of this, simple because, if you can understand me, you feel it, live it, too. Which is upsetting, because I don’t want anyone to hurt. I want to see people smile, even though I’m not included.

It’s bittersweet to be dragged down, while I’m accepting my fate, I feel comfort in knowing that, someone, any face that is looking right through me, is feeling life. 

Everyone believes in something. I believe in hope, it’s what gets me through the day, but even more so at night.

I hope that I never lose hope. 

Standard

20140924-232837-84517608.jpg

How I’m feeling today.

Image

Episode.

So, I’m coming out of a episode, finally. It felt like forever and it’s only been a short amount of time, (hence my inactivity)

I was starting to convince myself that I needed to buckle down for the longhaulbro.

I’m finally able to hold a conversation now, without saying “what?” “Huh?”
It’s frustrating when people give me this mean girls impersonation of a stink eye when I haven’t been listening to their melodramatic story. My mind isn’t elsewhere, it’s just blank.

Black, completely empty. Exactly how my body is feeling, nonexistent, it’s aching, but there’s just nothing inside.

Psychologist is annoying me. Asks the most idiotic questions, then gets offended if I ask her if she is a simpleton. I’m not a sociopath.
Just because I’m going through a phase of literally not giving a fuck about people, doesn’t mean I have something else “wrong” with me. Open your text books, try again precious.

Maybe, I’m a little bit of a bitch. I don’t know. I’ll care tomorrow. Maybe.

Apparently a study that happened recently showed that being a night-owl means that you have some kind of mental illness. So, how crazy are you?

Standard