Fractured

This was supposed to be well thought out and fluid. About the words as much as anything else. But I know already it'll be rash and irrational, like my hundred mile an hour head. And blunt and revealing and everything.

Even if you take just a second to consider how this feels...

Where others are smooth and sleek I am fractured. Split into parts as disjointed as they come. All about the but what if... but what if... but what if...

Fuck that. That is what I should do, because no one can be ruled by what ifs. What ifs coming out of your car crash ears, tainting everything, rotting away.

And nobody gets it. Nobody blinks an eye when I pour like rain. When I bleed a river. Unless, unless I pour and bleed in their deluded name. Because it's fine if it's not their problem, yeah? But you know, they are good people so heaven forbid that you suffer because of them.

But what if... but what if... everything is warped and skewed and distorted until you don't even recognise the alien in your mirror? The monster under your bed? The voice croaking its way from your dry cavern throat? Where do you turn? Who do you trust?

There are branches to snag my skin at every point, tripwires at every junction. Clowns sing and dance maniacally before my eyes, but at the end of the day I'm too well to do anything but survive.

Stumbling and shattering along and looking not even for help anymore, but just a glimmer of selflessness. A recognition that this has mostly come to light because of the dark days we travel through. We had spring summer and autumn and now we are firmly in winter. A never-ending solstice of agony. It is. Agony. And I've screamed so loud I've lost my voice. But there are limits and rules and fears stopping my aide.

In my mind there aren't limits or rules or fears for this. I'd do whatever I had to. Whatever I could do.

When you find yourself fractured, your first thought isn't to put yourself back together, to carefully pin the pieces into place. It is to wonder how you broke in the first place. How you can hit rock bottom. How you are still functioning in this hell.

18 year old me looks on in the shadows. She has shaken completely free of those apron strings. She is finding confidence. She stumbles but the dust from the ground doesn't stick, she can shake herself off and carry on. These things are but a minor check with life for her. A sign that she cares. She is always wide mouthed aghast and what she sees now.

Enough intellect and intelligence to give me vision, turned around on myself, corroding my flesh slow enough to keep me alive and tortured, instead of blazing a trail that's shiny and new and means something.

See how you'd like it if you've been told you have a gift, but somewhere something went wrong and now you're destroying yourself one agonising piece at a time with it. But what if... what if...

And imagine your skin so weak and thin and sensitive that every brush past makes you bruise, every touch makes you bleed, every single interaction with life batters at you.

You can care all you want about getting better, but sometimes you just want... To at least not feel that your being is tiring. That you are understood or at least seriously acknowledged.

I don't know what I know anymore. Love is the only good thing I can clearly see, the rest turns me to dust.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPod touch]

screaming

I am screaming into the wide open space. Got words for no-one's ears. Not any more. Broken into little pieces by everyone, and listened to by no-one. No voice, no sounds, just shady outlets full of obscurity.

All the critisms have finally worn me down. Worn me out. There is nothing but games and sickness. And I am a pack-horse for it all. Used, abused and kicked to the kerb.

All I hear are excuses, disease and mind-killing bullshit. I am there when it is convenient. Things that are as clear as day ignored. Talked at, talked down to.

And this is where being kind and selfless gets you. Dripping prozac nightmares. Itching and crawling with the need to feel something real. To bleed real blood. To cry real tears.

To fade away, not burn out.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPod touch]