Regretting and spiraling downward…


That’s the story of my life. Up long enough for the fall. Its been a hell of a week. Seems I’ve managed to fuck up again. Seems like that’s all I know how to do. If there is a prefect being, some god that created us, I think he must have been in a hurry when he was making me. I am pretty sure he overlooked a few esential pieces. Things like tact and patience. Seems he filled those places with extra doses of bitch and stubborness. I was wrong last night. I was being selfish. I was mean to a very good friend of mine and I won’t blame him if he doesn’t forgive me. But I hope he does. Because I love him. Alot. And I always want him to be my friend even though I can be stupid sometimes. I left him a message on his phone. I hope he listens to it. He never does. Just calls back and I suppose that would be alright too. I gave an apology. I know it isn’t enough but it is all I have. Such a bitch of a currency. I wonder who is writing those particular checks. I wonder if I have enough time to fix this and all the other things that I have broken. It’s a long list. I’ve been cutting again. Its been along time since I’ve done it. But it felt really good. Better then smoking. Better then sex. It brings me back. Makes me feel real. Seems like everything is coming to a crisis and I don’t know how to move out of the way. Things are changing in my head and it scares me. I’ve been thinking about killing myself. I would use a knife. A sharp one that would cut deep. And it would be no different then every other time I’ve watched my blood flow. But I’m afraid to die. What if there is no after? What if I just cease to be? Even hell doesn’t scare me as much as that does. And sometimes I think this is hell and I’m already paying the price for my sins. Recycled atonement. Another day for regrets and spiralling downward. But there is never a bottom. Yet I really wish there were. Then there would be something to strike. Something to fall into. And maybe then I could cease to be and maybe it would be better then this falling. Then I wouldn’t hurt anyone else any more. Let some other fallen cast hell’s blows. I want to drop the whip. I wrote a post about my funeral before. But who am i kidding? I will have no funeral because no one will miss me. Why should they? I could just disappear and cease to be and make it better for everyone. But I’m a coward. And I’m selfish. I even have moments of supreme aggrogance. I believe that trying hard and loving hard are all that matter. That things will some how magically fall into place if I just keep working at it. Then I wake up and i am reminded how the real world works. Where there are no happy endings and little ever goes as we planned. Things break. People die. The story just keeps going on, as if nothing else mattered. i once dreamed about catching that story and caging it on the page, but all I’ve ever held was empty words hollow and speaking only with my eacho. i once dreamed that telling the story could make it pause. Make it come together with order and purpose. But I fail to see my purpose. I fail to understand anything. And oddly, right now I wish I could talk to Jim. Little more then a stranger and somehow safer for it. I suppose its alot harder to hurt the people that don’t love you. The dichotomy inside my head keeps growing. The division gets wider like an opening maw that desires only to devour me. To consume all that I am. Better life through chemistry? Well, fuck it then. Give me a pill that fills in that hole. Something that can chemically stitch me back together again. Oh? No perscriptions for that? Figured not. If anyone knew the thoughts that I harbor, they would dope me up and lock me in a padded cell. I’d thank them for it. No escape from myself but it would absolve me of the inevitable collateral damage. I’m becoming like my father, letting the war within myself slash out against the poeple I love. Where is the land of fair? I have no right to it. None. but I’ve stolen it anyway. The cute little goblin that faines innocence in the cradle. But it eats the loving hands. Its always in the hands. You would like to belive that its in the eyes, but they lie. They trick and divert. They reflect the light as if it was their own. No. Ignore the eyes and look to the hands. Because that’s where the blood spills. Where all the harm is from. They always reveal their purpose. Flight of ideas. That’s another diagnosis for you. Tack on another. Crazy. mad. Weird. Too many and not enough. Go ahead and try to describe this. The coins always fall sliding between the grasping fingers faster then an hourglass’s sand. It knows nothing of the time it marks as passing. Simple and blindly marching. Falling in a parade of fallers because there is nothing else for it to do. Let them watch and count my passing too. Another grain of sand. Not so different then the others upon cursory review. Fragile and small. Falling. Gravity’s chaos as a demanding pull. And damn my slow fingers. they fail as all things breaking must, breaking beneath fate’s heel. No escape as the hand closes around you. Perhaps a favor then. Something to replace my courage. A favor to get when I remain stilled. So tired and yet compelled to move. It comes out of me in these words. Spilling not so unlike my blood. Someone is coming. I can hear them on the stairs. Bastards. Leave me alone. I do better when i am left alone. It is unbearably hot in here even with the AC running. A drop in the pretty big bucket I suppose. They receed. As a respite given me. Solitude means there is no one here to hurt but myself and that suits me just fine. Perhaps I’ll discover my courage today. wracked and sobbing i bend down back breaking to the will no longer strong but weak beneath the feet of the powerful stomping and i break another crack in an already flawed toy no one cries and no one notices as its bones give way. Just draw me a house and let me look around. Let me see what you harbor there. Perhaps a kitchen and a tub, all the normal things you’d expect one to keep there. Ignorance hiding the truth. There is danger there. I hate this house. I am sitting in my brother’s room which use to be my sister’s when the walls were bare. I was here then as I am now and nothing as changed. The walls have gone up and the paint was carefully applied. But the screams have not gone to silence. Perhaps they are only in my head because no else seems to hear them or maybe they don’t care to listen. They didn’t then. Why should they now? Why any of it now? I wish I would just shut the fuck up. Don’t I get the point? Sharp and close to my spine ready and waiting to slice me deep to better teach me the lessons… Walk upon the daggers edge and you’ll cut  your feet. Perhaps you’d rather fall. Don’t worry there is no bottom to catch you and there are no sympathetic ears to hear your terrified screams because you are the only one here its always been just you and the long fall that never ends, the rest is illusion and stupid dreams little left over toy from childhood that tumble down and strike you reminding you again of their folly and pointlessness let us play then and strike up a chord perhaps a tune you can sing to raging and raging but the beat is only for you nothing to keep them out nothing to keep them in a catch 22 of left over desires to hate and love all folded together and swirling along side of you and who is that laughing just now? it is nothing jovial just another symptom of madness who would laugh when they should cry and who would laugh as they die just another broken doll thrown and forgotten to be trodden on the floor

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About piggie4299

I am Myself I am a Wife Blessed with love I am a Mother Endowed with divinity Through the power of creation I am a Daughter Brought into this world With unending hope And the promise of the future I am a Sister Made fierce and strong While forged with kindness Protector and protected Spiraling together forever I am a Nurse Holding out the hands of healing And offering the sick comfort And the dying love Knowing that through this All things are healed and made whole I am a Writer Creating myself and world Sharing the inner depths of humanity Bringing together the divine And the humble mortal I tell the story of the Goddess And am remembered forever

Posted on July 17, 2010, in The Darkness..., The Pig's Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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