Fortfrolic

Är så jävla värdelös..

Okej.
Jag misslyckades.
Över 80 dagar..
Dö.
Orkade inte.
Panikanfallet var så jävla kraftigt..
Metallen så.. Närvarande.
Urgh, skakade som fan dock.. Tror inte kroppen egentligen ville göra något, men så blev det..

Thank you. Thank you for beliving in me when I feel hopless. Thank you for your constant support and neverending faith in me, when all I wanted to do was fail harder than before, and go even lower.

But.. I fear I'll never get rid of the demons haunting me, nor the evil thoughts that whisper to me at night.
I've gathered up some scrap-metal, pieces of a cymbal to be more precise, just in case anxiety kick in. But I can't use my wrists anymore, due to work.. So I'll have to find another canvas to draw the whispered words.
Upperarm?
Hip?
Neck?
No tattoos on left arm though, for at least 280 days.. Scars take about a year to heal, at least on the surface.


I can feel the knot growing in my stomach now. So familiar, missed and loved. Yet hated, feared and rejected.. Why? Shy reject these natural feelings?
Why the mixed emotions?
Love/Hate..
Loved/Rejected..

The last one isn't an emotion, I know, but you get the point, no?
The human mind is complex.. And so powerful. Not to mention stubborn. For example, I have a small part of me that thinks that S/H is wrong.. And then there's this side, that.. Well, just do it, without regret. That same part.. Personality, if that makes it anymore simple.. Either way, it sees the world for what it really is: agony, suffering and just bad.. Kinda like purgatory. But gloryfies death. Death is like Nirvana, or heaven. Free from society, and it's sickening demands of perfection.

Why am I struggling between these sides?! Any normal person wouldn't find this difficult, yet I struggle.. I fight the demon inside..

*sigh*

How do I put it?

Selfharm.. It's like a sybiot.. Or something.. The behaviour, it feeds of your mind.. Draining your body from all of it's energy.. Turning you into a kind of Zombie. Because all you can think of is selfharm. And you hate it, with all your heart. But.. You need it to survive. When anxiety fucks you up, it saves you. When your friends hurt you, it protects you.

Honestly? It can't be explained. You have to deal with that demon to understand what the hell I'm talking about.

Anyway, I'm close to.. "Doin it".. Right now.

If you're reading, and have my number.. Text me.. Something nice.
Or dreadful, depends of what side of me you want to.. I don't know, awake? See?

Pfft, do what you want. If I matter you, you do what feels okay.

Bye..

This just goes to show that some words are useless..

Alltid.. Något.. Jag.. Lyckas.. Förstöra..

Alltid! Vad är de för fel på mig?! Är jag såhär jävla värdelös, på riktigt?! Uurgh, döö bara..

Huvudet snurrar, sedan tre-fyra dagar tillbaka..
Knöl vid höger sida om käken..
Trött..

Djup text hade antagligen varit de ni (jag) förväntade mig, men de blir ingen idag.. Jag orkar inte. Just nu vill jag sova, eftersom jag känner ångesten komma…
De slutar aldrig bra.

Skriver somen kråka.. Men ni som kan läsa de.. Aah, typ, hej. Mitt liv alltså.

~~~~~~

Kanske börja skriva av mig lite var femte dag? Utifall man faller tillbaka, så kanske en kurator vill läsa? Vem vet?

Nej.. Skit i de, ingen mera Sävja! Inget mera "jag låtsas bry mig" skit från skolan! OM jag nu börjar igen, så vill jag bli lämnad ifred..