Shame & Disgrace; What A Terrible Place This Can Be, My Darling

Thursday: "Please make yourself comfortable on the sedan. The therapist will be with you soon. As usual, your session will begin with a word association exercise designed to elicit your deepest thoughts. Let us hope that you can do better than last week, when you responded to everything from cheese to hippopotamus with the same swear word. You don’t recall this? Well, if you say so. But a degree of gentle analysis could reveal an insight of great value today. If you won’t answer anyone else’s questions, answer your own."
 
Friday: "People who hear voices need never fear being alone. And people who talk to themselves? Well, at least they always have interesting company. We are generally inclined to see such individuals as being at a disadvantage but they may be far better off than the folk who simply believe whatever other people tell them. Are you kidding yourself about something this weekend? Or are you kidding someone else? Something that now seems crazy, may now make a lot more sense than you think."
 
I feel it again. I can’t explain it, and every time I feel it creep in, I’m scared. Is there something wrong with me? Or is there really just something wrong? It gets hard to distinguish where it ends and I do. I don’t think anyone believes me. And more than that I don’t think that anyone realizes how serious I am.
 
I dreamt about her last night- my Ryleigh. She was so new to me, in that dream, that all I could do was hold her. She was too weak to support her own head and I had to cradle her like she was the most precious, most vulnerable thing in my universe. Who am I kidding? Of course she was the most precious- the most loved and beautiful. But she is nothing but a dream, and I have to let that dream go. Ryleigh is a figment of some wish I had once. And I will never have it. I will die first. Or it will kill me. Promises broken, no promises kept. I have nothing left but the cold, barren hollow of my body to offer as some sallow shelter.
 
It starts slowly, like this build of hopelessness. Hour after hour, day after day, in little bits, in many ways, something pushes in on me like a building pressure. I can feel myself squish in on all sides to accommodate the new pressure- the new arrangement of how much room it takes up and how much room there is left for me. As time passes that room feels less and less, and I try to force myself to continue to fit inside it, when I know that eventually the walls will tumble in on me and I will be crushed to death. My lungs get tight, like I know there isn’t even room to fill my lungs with air anymore. The air gets heavy and I start to get headaches. The dread that I don’t belong in my own space gets more intense and I start to get angry. Every single moment that passes, every single day, all I see are signs that tell me that I am alone, always alone, completely and utterly alone. I will never trust anyone to take care of me. I’m learning this as I get older. That is my responsibility and I feel sorry for anyone who tries in the future. They will be wasting the effort. I am my own keeper, and the keeper of anyone else. I came into this world with no one to keep me, and I plan on leaving it that way.
 
What am I supposed to learn? What am I supposed to learn from the uncontrollable rage that boils under my skin? I try to hold it all in whilst I feel like I’m screaming it from every roof top and nobody even sees. Sometimes I get so stressed and so angry and so hurt that I feel like if I don’t do something big, I will literally explode. Light a house on fire, jump in front of a train- who knows? Something huge. Something drastic. Something that screams "ARE TAKING ME SERIOUSLY NOW, FUCKERS?"
 
Today I feel it. Today I feel like doing something permanent, and drastic.
 
Today I am all alone. Tomorrow, and the next day.
 
K.M.
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~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 10/29/2009.

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