LavĂnia
plalace
- Feb 19, 2024
- 165
I've always been very extreme. I can't see multiple options, multiple separate truths coexisting in harmony. There is only one truth, one fact that can never be ignored. Something that connects and moves all the others. I'm really unsure where to place this, in the Suicide or Recovery section, because I'm on a heavy, cold pendulum right now, stuck with my own weight waiting for a breath.
When I'm inclined to die, that's when I've accepted that all evil can be directed at me. Anything, all this guilt, all this bullshit pretending, the lies, the game of smiles, the satisfaction of other people, the violence, the anger, the impulse can all be thrown at me, in mockery. I cut my skin, I cut connections, I cut futures, I cut stories, effort, opportunities, the fucking tranquility, fuck it. I throw this shit away. I'm the guilty one, I'm the weak one, the problem is me. I swallow everything, tearing my throat out, my tone weak, sweet, anxious, and innocent. "I was born to die." The lack of focus becomes a justification for the end. I'm the one who hurts; I don't hurt anyone else. Oh, and who is affected by my own agony? I'm not God; I didn't hurt most people.
Now, when I try to live. When there's the impetus to seek things, to invest time, to seek and consider new realities. COMMITMENTS. TREATMENTS. CARE AND AFFECTION. MAINTENANCE. When there's the projection of another 10, 20, 40, or more years of this, continuing and evolving. There's an urgency to hurt people. A rage, a lack of care. A weariness, a disgust. I feel like screaming, hitting everyone; violence is for others. Lying to laugh in their faces, playing pranks to see the ones I love suffer. Making myself essential to screw people over. I did it. I managed to destroy this. Like a child piloting and controlling a adult body, moving the flesh up and down, laughing at how it moves and becomes more corpse than human, little by little.
If I want to die, I've erased all of this; I'll destroy myself. I am a loving soul.
If I want to live, I'll be a dirty piece of cloth made to wipe up vomit, hidden like a napkin in a drawer. When someone gets hold of this damn thing, it'll be a disaster.
I remembered this now that I'm trying to get better, because this urgency is coming and I don't know what to do. I already bought a candle, I'm watching it burn to kill time. I bought tickets to the circus, but the line was so long. I was afraid to ask if I could skip it because the ticket was online, or I was anxious about the wait, and I left, giving up. I'm taking care of my hair, wanting to buy products, try some colors, but things are expensive, and in this crisis, I want to pull it out and cut it. I'm getting closer to my family again, listening to and caring for my grandmother, watching over my mother, listening to and understanding my grandfather. I like it, but something terrible is screaming in my head. I'M SCREAMING. "Okay, how long do I need to do this?" "When does this effort end? A few more years? How many? Until they die? My grandparents maybe in another 20 years? Will I spend 20 years with them? That long?" Okay, I'll live, but for how much longer? Until it ends? When does it end? When? What do I do? Okay, I've already decided, what next? What next? What next? Do I keep taking care of my hair? Okay, I woke up, I made my bed, I'm looking at the candle, I'm studying this, I'm going to change fields, I'm seeing this too, I'm playing this new game, check out a new book. Wow, I know this story, it's good. Want to talk about this book with me too? Tell me your story, I'll tell mine, learning more, expanding more, changing, changing, changing. Becoming a mess, a collection of things that were never me, other people's paintings. I'll listen to you, I'll listen more, tell me your story. I know people now, connections! That's it, look, you see how important I am, I'm so sustainable, aren't I? I LISTEN TO YOU. I WAIT MY TURN TO SPEAK. WHEN I SPEAK, YOU WAIT YOURS, WE WAIT, PRETENDING WE'RE PEOPLE, THAT THIS "PEOPLE" SHIT MEANS SOMETHING. I HAVE A MOUTH, I'LL SHOUT, I'LL EXPOSE THE INTRUDERS OF WHAT'S INSIDE ME, 'MY ESOPHAGUS IS THIS COLOR, DO YOU LIKE IT?'. THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS. I HAVE A MOUTH TO BE HEARD, EYES TO BE SEEN, EARS TO SPEAK, YOU AND I, SCREAMING AND WAITING, THAT'S ALL. FOR YEARS? MORE? MORE? MORE? MORE?
Maybe this is a crisis, I'll start walking too, yes, this should work. Walk more, I need to walk more.
I'm posting this here because it's a bad time, maybe I'm wrong. I wanted to die because it was easier
When I'm inclined to die, that's when I've accepted that all evil can be directed at me. Anything, all this guilt, all this bullshit pretending, the lies, the game of smiles, the satisfaction of other people, the violence, the anger, the impulse can all be thrown at me, in mockery. I cut my skin, I cut connections, I cut futures, I cut stories, effort, opportunities, the fucking tranquility, fuck it. I throw this shit away. I'm the guilty one, I'm the weak one, the problem is me. I swallow everything, tearing my throat out, my tone weak, sweet, anxious, and innocent. "I was born to die." The lack of focus becomes a justification for the end. I'm the one who hurts; I don't hurt anyone else. Oh, and who is affected by my own agony? I'm not God; I didn't hurt most people.
Now, when I try to live. When there's the impetus to seek things, to invest time, to seek and consider new realities. COMMITMENTS. TREATMENTS. CARE AND AFFECTION. MAINTENANCE. When there's the projection of another 10, 20, 40, or more years of this, continuing and evolving. There's an urgency to hurt people. A rage, a lack of care. A weariness, a disgust. I feel like screaming, hitting everyone; violence is for others. Lying to laugh in their faces, playing pranks to see the ones I love suffer. Making myself essential to screw people over. I did it. I managed to destroy this. Like a child piloting and controlling a adult body, moving the flesh up and down, laughing at how it moves and becomes more corpse than human, little by little.
If I want to die, I've erased all of this; I'll destroy myself. I am a loving soul.
If I want to live, I'll be a dirty piece of cloth made to wipe up vomit, hidden like a napkin in a drawer. When someone gets hold of this damn thing, it'll be a disaster.
I remembered this now that I'm trying to get better, because this urgency is coming and I don't know what to do. I already bought a candle, I'm watching it burn to kill time. I bought tickets to the circus, but the line was so long. I was afraid to ask if I could skip it because the ticket was online, or I was anxious about the wait, and I left, giving up. I'm taking care of my hair, wanting to buy products, try some colors, but things are expensive, and in this crisis, I want to pull it out and cut it. I'm getting closer to my family again, listening to and caring for my grandmother, watching over my mother, listening to and understanding my grandfather. I like it, but something terrible is screaming in my head. I'M SCREAMING. "Okay, how long do I need to do this?" "When does this effort end? A few more years? How many? Until they die? My grandparents maybe in another 20 years? Will I spend 20 years with them? That long?" Okay, I'll live, but for how much longer? Until it ends? When does it end? When? What do I do? Okay, I've already decided, what next? What next? What next? Do I keep taking care of my hair? Okay, I woke up, I made my bed, I'm looking at the candle, I'm studying this, I'm going to change fields, I'm seeing this too, I'm playing this new game, check out a new book. Wow, I know this story, it's good. Want to talk about this book with me too? Tell me your story, I'll tell mine, learning more, expanding more, changing, changing, changing. Becoming a mess, a collection of things that were never me, other people's paintings. I'll listen to you, I'll listen more, tell me your story. I know people now, connections! That's it, look, you see how important I am, I'm so sustainable, aren't I? I LISTEN TO YOU. I WAIT MY TURN TO SPEAK. WHEN I SPEAK, YOU WAIT YOURS, WE WAIT, PRETENDING WE'RE PEOPLE, THAT THIS "PEOPLE" SHIT MEANS SOMETHING. I HAVE A MOUTH, I'LL SHOUT, I'LL EXPOSE THE INTRUDERS OF WHAT'S INSIDE ME, 'MY ESOPHAGUS IS THIS COLOR, DO YOU LIKE IT?'. THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS. I HAVE A MOUTH TO BE HEARD, EYES TO BE SEEN, EARS TO SPEAK, YOU AND I, SCREAMING AND WAITING, THAT'S ALL. FOR YEARS? MORE? MORE? MORE? MORE?
Maybe this is a crisis, I'll start walking too, yes, this should work. Walk more, I need to walk more.
I'm posting this here because it's a bad time, maybe I'm wrong. I wanted to die because it was easier
