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.

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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. 

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A perfect stranger.

A progress update.

When blogging for my own mental health, and exploring my thoughts and emotions was first suggested to me, I rolled my eyes. I can barely speak a word that I’m thinking, without the possibility of myself sounding like a simpleton.

I know what I want to say, I think about it, but it’s almost like the words come out backwards, or in slow motion. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, and probably harder to understand.

But anyway, since attempting to blog to help my expression, my mental health. I have honesty met, well spoke to, the most amazing people that have ever graced my presence.

From a young age, I, personally was taught to hate a perfect stranger, to assume the worst. Everyone is guilty until proven innocent, but one thing blogging has shown me, is that I was completely wrong. There is such thing as a perfect stranger.

And what I mean when I say “perfect stranger” is someone completely unknown to me, meaning that their persona, their raw beauty, is perfect. It’s only until we communicate when we make first impressions and understand their personality.

I was so consumed in my own opinion, of what I thought everyone was like (yes, I categorised) that I never gave myself a chance to get to know someone, because I never allowed them the opportunity to prove me wrong.

But, following the selection of blogs that I do, reading them, commenting, thinking. I started to realise, that I was the one stopping my own progression, I was hurting my communication. I was mentally hurting myself.

A blog I follow, has been the only thing I have ever experienced that allowed me to provide relatable and understandable information that was surprisingly education about my mental health, allowing the strain I cause on my family to decrease.

Having a text book, and clinical facts isn’t always a way someone is going to be easily able to understand the information given to them. Until reading this specific persons’ blog, I was convinced there was no other words or ways the information can be delivered. I’m so thankful that this person, let themselves be raw, and shine a light into a dark place.

I frequently spoke to a woman who was a sociopath, who completely blew my mind, with nothing but brutal honesty and intelligence, helping me open my eyes to situations that were clouding my head, she is a constant support network for me, and I value every inch of advice, criticism and respect she provides for me, which she did, not because she thought she had to, because she wanted to. I’m forever thankful for the kindness of this woman, I’m not sure if she knows how much she has helped me understand the situations I face.

Another opinionated blog I really enjoy, not because of his popularity, because of his honest, confronting and real posts. All thought, aside from a few comment replies, we have never really spoken well enough for me to learn something from his personality shown in his communication, the subject with his blogs provide enough.

He shows me a personality trait that I seriously lacked, free-thinking.

For those that are wondering, Wikipedia defines free-thinking as (below)
Freethought or free thought is a philosophical viewpoint which holds that positions regarding truth should be formed on the basis of logic, reason, and empiricism, rather than authority, tradition, or other dogmas.

His brain is always ticking, I’ve barely read a post before another one has been written, all differing in topic, size and opinion, and I am completely in awe. I was completely blinded to the fact that logic and reasoning should be large factors in my opinions, this blogger also showed me, (over the times I stalked his communication with his followers) that it is possible for two opinions to be different, one person isn’t always necessarily correct, or incorrect. I know, this may seem logical and simple to you, but my brain functions differently.

Also, I have a follower, that is a beautiful soul, that has showed me that it is completely possible to care about someone you have never met. If she asks me if I am okay, I feel nothing but sincerity, and she cared about the answer. I just assumed that people asked if you were okay, to seem polite. It wasn’t heartfelt, and the answer wasn’t important.

While it may seem silly to you, that these perfect strangers have provided so many life lessons that I should already have, I know, and I understand.

I lacked the guidance and understanding to learn these simple things.

I can feel my being becoming a better person, all because strangers allowed me to see into their lives, exposing themselves in their blogs, unintentionally providing me with valuable information that I was greatly needing, and the best thing? Some of them don’t even know how they have assisted in changing my life. They were just being them, being perfect strangers.

My opinions have the human mind, and the kindness of people have completely changed. I no longer assume that someone unknown is guilty until proven innocent, and I also believe that everyone has a lesson to teach, we just have to ask the right questions, and look in the right places.

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Being me.

Imagine, just for a moment, there was a bee stuck inside your head.

You can hear it.
You don’t know why it’s there.
You can’t get it out.
And it will never stop.
Only you can hear it.

Imagine, how insane you will begin to feel, experiencing this over, and over.

Now, imagine, trying to explain the bee in your head to someone. Imagine how it would feel as you watch their facial expressions change, ranging from humour, to confusion. How frustrating it is, all the while that bee, is just getting louder and louder.

When you reach a state of mania, consider how insulting it can be, to hear the people you have told about your bee, question it more.

but, how can you have that bee, if you’re happy? You can’t just pick and choose when you hear the bee, I’m not sure there is a bee at all.

Sometimes, that bee is my friend. Sometimes, that bee has the ability to make me hyperactive, and full of love, and life. That bee fills me with the desire to buy and do everything, at once! The bee controls my sexual desire, helping me feel sexy and attractive. That bee shows me just how exhilarating things can truly be. I feel like I can do anything and everything!

But most of the time, that bee is determined to kill me make me hate myself, completely.

That bee gets louder, more frequent, and I begin to feel irritated, frustrated and full of rage, that bee shows me how uncontrollable I can be. I want to hurt you, I want to hurt me, I want to hurt the world.

The bee never shuts up. The buzzing pushes me into the darkness of my own mind, where madness carves it’s own reality, either into my skin, or into my mind.

My body, and my state of mind, consists of nothing but blackness, terror and pure undefined hate, all because of that bee.

Imagine sitting next to someone, a perfect stranger, and wishing you could have their mind, and whatever troubles they are going through, just so you could experience a life without the bee buzzing.

That bee causes me to lose my bearings. Have you ever gotten on a train, and completely forgotten where you were going because of how loud that buzzing is?

Nothing at all seems worth it, when you’ve endlessly tried to shut that cunt up.

I cannot trust my reactions, I cannot trust my thoughts, I cannot trust my being, I cannot trust myself.

That bee has caused me to forget who I am.

I hope, you never hear that bee.

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Blogging for mental health.

Who actually knew, that creating a blog would be considered as a technique to help you deal with your mental health, how things have changed.

I’m not sure if my blog is private, the app is difficult to navigate, I’m not worried, there are far too many depressing blogs out there for people to bother looking at mine, which is actually my preference.

Writing daily entries is no doubt going to be difficult for me, I can barely remember to feed myself, let alone blog, but, a girls gotta try. Right?

It’s slightly interesting that every word I type, I’m hearing it in my own voice, hmm, maybe that’s why online bullying is as terrible as people say, who knows.

Maybe this will become like my diary, I’m not sure though, I haven’t used a diary in at least five years.

Well. Here goes nothing.

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