Coercion

I think back to that night.

Drowning on air.

Choking on food.

Dissolving in water.

The damage he inflicted.

Regrets that may never be shed.

The Dreams.

Fear of sleep.

It's an unnatural thing for me.

From the blissful breaks to the heart of the darkness,

Sleep has been my salvation.

These nightmares have stolen it away from me.

Small dots have punctuated my sweet haven in the past.

But never like this.

My mother tells me it's the traumas manifesting.

Trauma...

To many my demons are the result of a spoiled mind.

And not in the sense of it being diseased.

The mind of a petulant and lazy child creating excuses.

Trauma...

Is that what I believe?

Yes.

It's not the label I struggle with, but how the label resulted.

Did I bring this upon myself?

Could I have handled this all?

Am I truly to blame?

...And if so, have I found my way back?

Sometimes I wonder.

And then I think back to my childhood.

Children are not malicious.

Yet, as a child, I hurt people.

I hurt people deeply, and often.

I threw knives at my sisters, and fists at my mother.

Manipulated to the best of my ability.

Though I was not hit, nor neglected, nor abused, I hurt.

Every night I hurt.

Every day, I hurt back.

I was an innocent.

Because of this I know I was truly ill.

I was stunted.

I was searching and reaching for help I couldn't conceive.

But now...

I've received so much 'help'.

But at times like these I wonder if I've progressed.

I'm still a child.

But the mourning of my childhood is ongoing.

Will I ever heal?

It's been a few months now, since I've caused physical harm to myself.

Tonight, I want it back.

I want to drag a blade through my tissue.

I want to sever vessels and spill pain.

Will the desire ever leave?

I'm unsure if this is numbness.

Or if only I ache so for the simplicity of it.

Will the questions ever cease? 

The Light of The Morning.

I don't know what to write about today,

But I know it's been to long since I've written.

I feel large.

I'm struggling with my body lately.

I want it to be better.

I want to be better.

I don't really feel like I'm worth much lately.

I know I am. Or rather, I feel like I will be.

But I wonder if that is what my life will be,

A constant state of waiting to be worth it.

It's possible a reversal of fortunes is in the works.

Just as I feel less than capable, I am desired.

This does nothing to dispel my feelings of being phony.

Projected confidence is all fine, but a solid sense of inner self would be better.

But is it only projected confidence if you do frightening things of your own accord?

I asked a boy to dance this weekend. A stranger. 

I asked him to be my cowboy while Big & Rich's Save a Horse played.

He seemed scared. 

I got his phone number.

Turns out he's a nice Lutheran boy who teaches Sunday school.

A pastor's kid.

Then there's MJ,

He's also a very nice man.

I'll be seeing him this afternoon.

Curious.

Michael is ever-present, and I just want him to go away so I can move on.

He needs to stop liking everything I post on the facebook.

Reminding me that he thinks we're perfect.

The problem is I don't really like him at all anymore.

Just go away Mike, please? 

Stop being selfish.

I kind of want to post this on his wall.. That'd be bitchy though.

Embracing Ghosts.

My last two posts were drunk posts of which I have no recollection.

Proud.

I feel haunted.

Some days have passed since this photo graced my tumblr.
Ice froze my veins, a mixture of fear, shame, and loathing prevailed.
Originating from a bewitching hour long passed.
A prepubescent in a state of emotional suspension.
 Suddenly thrown back to Earth.

Continued on a night full of substance.
Perceptions of omniscience coupled with impotence.
Reduced to a frightened child pleading and screaming for validation.
Reality warped, I am broken.

Passenger to a blue Beretta.
Traveling down a dank dirt road.
An old white church, smaller than most homes.
"The meeting place," he tells me.
My mind jumps to these doctors.
Come to declare me as no longer viable.
The Birdman brings confirmation of what I've long feared.
Mental Illness of the terminal nature.

Locked in my own mind.
The corn gives birth to doctor upon doctor.
The rows converge in a vanishing point.
Closed eyes bring only more vivid impressions.

"Wouldn't it suck if  the car broke down out here?" he questions.
My mind reels with possibilities.
I beseech him to retract his words, lest he tempt the fates.

We're unwitting cast in a horror film.
The fabrication of my God complex, Karma is plentiful.
The screaming starts as he plays with the pedals.
Puppeteer of a woman no longer a real girl.
He admits it's his own doing.
But in this D-grade picture it's the lull before the tragedy.
I blather of our assumed victory, tell how fully it will rebound.
Soon the car will stop for real.
The doctors will come.
They will bring me to their temple, they will carry me home.
The church is some distance back now but still achievable.
Again he plays.
We slow and stop.
I scream and gouge my nails further,
deepening the crescents in the apples of my cheeks.

They are coming.

Accepting my fate I curl into my seat.
Ears plugged, eyes squeezed, and jaw clenched I await my reckoning.
Time passing with my resolve.
I come back to the world.
The surrealism of the night leads me to question my reality.
Crawling so far back into my head I'm unsure what was expressed beyond it's walls.
All I ask of him is to tell me what has happened.
Were my screams internal? They must have been for him to be so cruel.

His answer?
"I don't know what you're talking about, you've been
staring out the window for the last five minutes ignoring me."

I trust him.
I believe him.
I begin to doubt my sanity.
The terror of the Serotonin Syndrome recrudesces.
The Shadow Creatures beckoning to me.
I demand the truth from him.
He confirms my experiences.
But the doubt lingers.

I ask question upon question, hoping his answers coincide.
With each right answer relief flows through me.
With each breath the panic drains, and betrayal swoops in.
Mingling together these emotions take the last of me.
Sinking into the upholstery, I'm done.


...

I am haunted by the ghosts and the trauma. 

Shadows of a child's mind.

Ill at ease as it once was, my innocence tainted.

Flashbulb cognizance of moments insignificant to others.

Drowning.

Simulated despair.

Turmoil belatedly expressed.

Screams lost in layers.

Foresight forgotten.

I Want Gaping Holes.

I want the absence. 

If that makes you feel special so be it.

But leave that shit away from my feelings.

A special distance between the care and concern.

The care placed on Kelly, the care placed on Katee and Lindsay.

I feel more than pathetic.

Most importantly for not taking care of you.....

One day darlings...

One day...

NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, WEST....

I am very much losing touch with who I am.