LustingforNightmares

tumbleweed
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2013-01-13 00:18:37 (UTC)

Unstability

Why I Am Not Talking To The World: I'm angry and I don't have any electronics because I was a Bad Girl.

Why I am Angry: No fucking Idea

What I have done today: Lied in bed, punched/kicked my father, sat in a pool of my own blood (this is literal. I was actually in a puddle of my blood), cried with a bloody face (also literal), said mean words to people, cried cried cried, ripped my hair out, rocked back and forth, thought about purging, chewed more gum, chewed different kind of gum, sick of eating, read, sat, screamed until I felt raw, cut some more, cried, ran, made a snowball, hurt my dad, cringe away from my parents.


That is not all.

I feel crazy. Insane.

And disappointed in myself. That I couldn't keep it inside, and instead, my eyes have been stinging nonstop from the salty tears I have cried in the past twenty four hours.

My parents don't know how to handle me.


I want them to hurt, too.


I'm a bad girl.


I should've kept it inside. I exploded. This is not good.

I hope I wounded them. i love them, but I hate them. I have spent years being their super mature daughter but I am one hundred percent done trying anything anymore.


Trying.

What a strained word. Stretched to breaking point. Creaking under pressure.


It must come as a shock. I mean, they knew I was depressed. But I was careful not to let them see me being depressed.

I let it go.

They can hurt. I don't care. I want to hurt someone. Very bad. I want to look in their eyes and see the pain and tears so I can be in control... I hate feeling so helpless.

Like I can't do anything.

And so I cut.


And the blood dripped more than it ever had and it pooled. I took my finger, dipped it in the crimson bloodyness and wiped two stripes on my face, under my eyes, like I was going to war. Like I was about to play a soccer game.

My project is a goodbye letter. I didn't know if it was when I started it, but I suppose it is. Under all the glue, its a cry for help. It even says so.

Goodbye? But I'm not suicidal.


I don't think so.

Actually I'm not so sure.


I don't care. The one part I hate about killing myself is that I won't be able to watch those I left behind suffer and crumble.


That would give me some satisfaction.
I want to hurt someone.


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