Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I quit.

   I figured out something today: whatever I'd do, I'm never going to be happy. The people I love most will disappoint me, my friends will leave me, I will leave my parents. I am never going to be the way I was before. Things will never be the same again. All I want now is a dozen cans of beer or maybe some pills or some shit to kill me quick. The rain won't keep falling forever, the kisses won't last forever. My smile will never appear on my face again, my eyes won't look happy, my face will stay swollen, I will have abdominal pains for the rest of my life or maybe I will need surgery.

   There will always be food, I will regularly ingest food and be too tired to get rid of it. I will never have enough time for exercising - one hour, two hours, three, a lifetime - because there's just not enough time. I will always yell at myself,  fat fuck you are!, even if I'll weigh 200 kilograms or 23. I want to die, to disappear, to vanish quickly and all memories of me to be forgotten. I am angry at what I have become.

   I have cut an "x" on my chest, right between my breasts. It is the cut that will keep people away from my heart, that will keep all the bad things away. It's my protection, my warm blanket, my armor. I need to cut again and again and again - one thousand times, with the scissors - see the blood, smear it on my body in an artistic way. It brings pleasure as intense as an orgasm, the blood between my lips, on the bathroom floor, on my body. The taste of iron. The bright color. The pain I feign, because there is really nothing except the burn in my heart. It's like a dagger sculpting my heart, digging deeper and deeper into it.

   Why keep a person who makes me angry, sad, who made me cut and cry and who never believes me? The last person I trusted, the only person who knows that I'm more than an average girl. He knows I am a cutter and pill taker and whatever you can come up with. He is supposed to always be there for me and take care of me. I feel exposed, unprotected, the only think that is safe for me is also destroying me. I feel safe when cutting, taking pills, being in pain. That's what I am used to and what feels "normal" for me. And what is he doing, making jokes and exposing me even more to what I am terrified of? I am terrified of animals with too many or too few legs, I am terrified of him leaving me, of people knowing who I am.. I am terrified of being myself. It takes him one fucking hour and a half to finally touch me and give me a five-seconds kiss, after not having seen me for three weeks.

   I am the romantic type who'd like to be kissed in the rain, who'd say "I love you", who could spend hours in a boy's arms, listening to the silence, feeling the wind in my hair. He just doesn't provide that for me, but still, one of my biggest fears is losing him. I am afraid of stopping the self-destruction. I am afraid of not feeling pain, because if there's no pain, there's only nothing -- and the "nothing" feeling is what brought me into the deepest, darkest sides of existence.

   Why bother living if I don't have anything to live for? I need something to live for, but I do not want it. I do not want anything.

   I'll take some Nurofen pills and put them in a small box. I will take them when I have enough of them to kill me.

   Being me is too complicated,

   I quit.

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