action/reaction

for every up theres a down one minute youre sitting on top of the world and the next youre inside of hell it's not meant to rhyme its just the way it comes out theres a million thoughts racing through your head when will it stop maybe when im dead...he said i see my self in him maybe not as good looking or intellectual but i know hes going through what im going through and everyone thinks life is just good the next days paper reads young man dead after killing spree im sad it wasnt me he had it in him and i didnt theres always next time i guess im falling asleep as i type this my mind is tired and my body is drained its exhausting being insane

Doctor, increase the dosage.


There’s a few things we should talk about. I didn’t want to tell you in front of all those people so we’ll come to this little room, away from everything. First off, your mask; take it off, it’s not worth baring anymore. You don’t need to fake it anymore. Let them see you, let them touch you, it won’t hurt anymore. It’s too obvious now, everybody can predict your next move. This is your 22nd birthday, sure feels great to know you stopped mentally and emotionally maturing at the age of 8 years old. They have medicine for that these days though; they have medicine for everything. Got a cold? Take a pill. Got a rash? Take a pill. Got a headache? Take a pill. Got a constant thought of wanting to blow your brains out? Take a pill. Let it run down smoothly and let your serotonin levels even out for 8 hours. Hopefully something doesn’t throw you out of whack. Doctor, increase the dosage. Those thoughts are creeping up again, and you know it’s going to ruin something, just try not to let anything get in the way this time. It delays the inevitable. So it’s come full circle and I’m sitting here talking to you (me) your exterior self evaluating every single thing your mind has conjured up.

the only time we feel is when we sleep.

i suppose you never know what you have until it's gone; what if you never had it to begin with? always out of reach and those around you cherishing it, cradling it in their arms. "it's" always been gone. you don't even know what to say when people ask you "where's yours?". where is it? some people will just never have this kind of thing. be it medical complications, diagnosis, apathy, or the lack of the ability to feel, its gone, always has been and always will be.so where to go now? isn't that life's purpose, to "have and to hold" and move on with your life? these are the kinds of things hallmark cards are made out of, write a half assed attempt at trying to congratulate them for getting what you've always wanted, what you always needed, what you never felt. there they go, out of your life, they'll be back at square one by the end of time, half of them always come back to visit you and sink back down...it's a long way down for them, but it's a long way up when you're anchored by the reality of it all. that four letter word that comes to mind every time someone gets that gut feeling in their stomach, emotions are high, staring into each others eyes and mutter those words to make your self feel better, or to put them at ease. they don't know what waking up in cold sweats is like when you're laying next a person that comforts you. sweat dripping down your back, it's a mind fuck. is it mental? is it physical? this is the kind of thing you think about every day, every night, mid conversation when you're staring blankly into the persons eyes and you can't help but want to get away from that conversation; why waste your time? why waste theirs? so when does it end? discomfort turns into numbness, sulking turns emotionless. there it is, always just out of reach, always fleeting. maybe it's time to go. those footsteps you heard turn into nothing should have been yours the last time around. nothing will change though, you'll keep your self busy, keep your self occupied, keep your self alive. just waiting around to die.

suicidenotefromasmalltimerecipient

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The words I muster in my very last breath will be my regrets

Day 2. Realization.

Talking to people during these stages turns useless. The thought of ignoring them sets in minutes before their words leave their lips. Sentences lost in space with out making a hit on their targets ears. Welcome to your body in a nervous breakdown. Pass out, it might feel better to come to feeling like you’re seeing everything for the first time again.

Now you wish you would have thought what you are thinking now, then. The evidence was left everywhere to be found; You don’t even need to take the prints for this one. Gazing at the sky never answered so many questions…there still aren’t enough answers. It’s the only time you feel alone, on the verge of sleep and being wide-awake day dreaming about dreaming. The world isn’t big enough for all the secrets you’re keeping.

People will tell you things to make you feel better about your self. Things that might be genuine, but little do they know that they don’t know you at all. Quick fixes only last you so long until you’re coming down and you need something else to pick you up. Your drug: their pain, your cure: your pain. It’s the only way you know to live. It’s the only way you’re going to die.

How does it feel to know that people were right about you? They called it from a mile away. You didn’t know you were wearing a sign that said “royally fucked” that can be read 20 miles down the highway. It’s not hard to see why they know. Looking in the mirror has never felt so dissatisfying. You’re all you know. Nothing ever came of what you were supposed to be.

Go to sleep, day 2 is over. How many more days until you stop feeling this way? The clocks hand punches you square in the mouth, minute after minute, second after second. Spit out your teeth, each one of them wouldn’t even amount to the secrets you hold inside of me.


Your mouth tastes human. Your mind feels wasted.

Day 1: Guilt.

The day it finally settles in. Finally after hours of contemplation and reasoning, you finally come to terms with what you’ve done. The way a bipolar disordered mind works. There’s nothing anyone could have done to make you feel anything other than complete indifference. It’s times like this when you ask your self why you’re still breathing.

This is the day you sit in a room full of people and can’t help but feel like you have nothing in common with them. You ask your self if they have done anything like you just did, you wonder what hides inside, what skeletons do they have in their closets. You stopped taking your meds and you’re teetering on self-destruction and learning a valuable lesson. With a mind like yours, who needs a valuable lesson? You’ll forget it when you go to sleep. Wake up and start that routine that got you writing this in the first place.

Now’s the time you think about how you fucked it up, so bad beyond repair. What makes you think what you did was a good idea at the time? It’s the knack for having; scratch that, needing chaos in your life. Day dreaming of “how it could have been” gets you nothing. It’s gone, and now it’s really never coming back. No matter how much you (don’t) want it, it’ll never come back. Recollection of the way things used to be gets you nowhere. All the “sorry’s” and “forgive me’s” can never add up.

This isn’t the first time this feeling has happened. The nostalgia and irony leaves a disgusting after taste in your mouth. It’s like a plaque build up that nothing can remedy. Scars align. It’s time to own up to what you’ve done. You’re only human, is that an excuse? No. Does it help you cope? No. “Another bump” is such a crock of shit. If that’s the case your life is a cobble stone road. The knife is being shoved right into that scarred tissue from your previous fuck up. Here’s to another day spent counting the days till you end.

21 years of descent and you still haven’t hit the dirt. Nothing’s wrong, but you can’t find the right. Maybe everything’s so wrong that you feel it’s right. Get used to it kid, you’re in for a bumpy ride and you’re not getting off any time soon.


You brought this on your self.

...

"If you could go back to the happiest point in your life, would you?", right when those words were leaving her lips I knew what this was going to turn into. How do you lie to someone? Easy, you lie to them like you lie to your self. It's easier that way. No connection. No emotions. This person isn't a person, it's you. So I told her that when I was 5 I had the best birthday ever. On that day I had so many friends, so much family, so much to look forward to; even up to those last minutes leading up to my five year old face being smashed into a cake by my dad. I knew it was going to happen. It happened every year before that. I didn't mind. The world was mine that day. I still remember everything that happened on that day, what toys I got, the colors of the mess that I left on the ground from the gifts I had gotten. Littering? I couldn't even say that word. I didn't care. I needed to see what was inside those bright-well-wrapped gifts that seemed to take hours to open to me, to everyone else it was seconds. Smiles were being displayed, amazed by the speed of my hands as they ripped the tape, the ribbon, the paper, the packaging. Cards were last, always last. I remember this birthday specifically because I remember getting a lot of money. I thought it was 200, it was probably 50. I couldn't even count to 200. Regardless, it was gone before I could even buy anything with it. It had disappeared. That was the last birthday I cared to remember. That was the last time my entire family was together. That was the last time anyone seemed to care. That's it. That was the happiest point in my life. Innocence, still had it. Solid foundation, seemed intact. Sanity, check. "Then what happened?" cue you ruining some ones day. It's something I'm used to now. My life story. Total assault on all senses. You can smell the desperation in my breath. You can taste the disappointment in the air. It's a never ending story. Where can you hide it all? Somewhere in the back of my mind, it's all in there. Subconsciously, I have left over resentment from the past. "Maybe you need to talk to someone." Heard that before. Why should I? Why don't they just talk to me? Paranoia sinks in and you're wondering if this person hates you yet. You really don't care though. It's not enough to even worry about. So you keep going. Little do you know, you'll be spending the up coming months with this person. Seeing them every day. Smelling their morning breath. Hair grease in your face as you two tell each other your thoughts that morning. What you dreamt about; those feelings still resonating inside. Deciding what you're going to eat. What you're going to wear. When you're going to shower. It's not enough. Nothing's ever enough. You ask your self if this is what you really want. Phase 2: doubt. It will kill you. It's gone on long enough. And now you're just waiting for the crash. Why not pull the plug now? Fuck bracing your self. I want it to die now. Is this normal? You're not normal. Don't ask yourself. Ask someone else. You won't take your own advice. That's something to say about you. Self improvement: a harsh critique on your social skills, or lack thereof. It's miniscule compared to all the other problems in your head. You're still bitter about that money you lost when you were 5. Innocence, you never knew how fucked the world was going to be when you had it in your hands. How did you turn into this?

"If I speak, my pain is not lessened, and if I hold back, what has left me? But now he has exhausted me; thou hast laid waste all my company. And thou has shriveled me up, it has become a witness; and my leanness rises up against me, it testifies to my face. His anger has torn me and hunted me down, he has gnashed at me with His teeth; my adversary glares at me. They have gaped at me with their mouth, they have slapped my on the cheek with contempt; They have massed themselves against me. God hands me over to ruffians, and tosses me into the hands of the wicked. I was at ease, but he shattered me, and he grasped me by the neck and shaken me to pieces; he has also set me up as his target. His arrows surround me. Without mercy he splits my kidneys open; he pours out my gall on the ground. He breaks through me with breach after breach; he runs at me like a warrior....my face is flushed from weeping, and my darkness is on my eyelids, although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure. O earth, do not cover my blood, and let there be no resting place for my cry...my spirit is broken, my days are extinguished, the grave is ready for me."