Relaxing sinking drowning… The nightmare seems never-ending. Why do I hate – me; so much? Where does the despair appear from? What birthed it, and why do I give it so much life.
And so it's over at last, as the sunlight glints off the sharp razor blade, and I stare, almost hypnotised at its finished edge, and the desire is stronger than the fear, as it almost melts into the flesh, tears through the skin and pierces the vein and crimson blood wells up: Ripping upwards along the arm as the quilt above me drenches with warmth. I simply feel glad that the black void has finally won, but at least I no longer have to fight against its inevitability.
God yes it hurt; like fuck! but the physical pain was as like nothing to the mental anguish that the physical pain promised to extinguish. Yes, a new release, from the pain, the isolation, the fear, the self loathing.
Do you know what it's like to wake up, and hate the fact, to wish you could lose yourself in that sleep for ever, no memories, no dreams, nothing. Sometimes I would wakeup and not get out of bed, simply lay there all day, staring at nothing, trying not to listen to the voices in my brain, trying not to feel, to fear, to hate.
So, I remember the blood seeping into the sheets, warm, and my imagination was in overdrive, I was floating, above the clouds, no worries, no thoughts confusing my mind, freedom within my grasp, and what I can only imagine was happiness seeping through my bones…
And the slowly approaching roar, like a silent scream building up to that first scream of birth, the final scream of deaths sweet kiss, the final release from the horror story of now. Dear oblivion take me within your soft arms, hold me safe from the imagined tears, fears… tears of forgiveness, the pain easing gently, gently away, and I'm no longer just floating,
I'm flying, diving, soaring, swooping, past the pains of my childhood, when he would take me roughly by my arms and threats of what would happen if I spoke of this to anyone, those tortured teenage years, distrusting and not letting anyone in, the fears of adulthood and seeing a rapist in every pair of eyes that showed me any interest.
The fear, and the need, and the lust… even a victim needs to be needed, whether that need is love or hate, it's need and it gives me power, however limited, and so the self loathing builds and corrupts and fills every fibre of your being and maybe next time it'll be better, and maybe it'll be worse and will kill you, but at least it puts an end to the need and the lust and the fear and the hatred and-
The black void? Like the mouth of a demon, threatening to swallow you whole, like it's there, just beyond visual range, but mere millimetres from your soul, threatening to crush everything, physical, spiritual and mental; its emotional energy is pure fear, like a psychic whip, making everything cower in its wake.
Yeah of course I know I've been resuscitated! no way is this heaven, tho' it may still be hell. I owe you one, and if these restraints were removed I'd pay in blood, yours… D'you know how long it took me to get the courage up to make the cut-
Oh, now you can help me yeah? so where the fuck were you when I was asking for help, eh? Do I self harm, do I self mutilate, do I give a sweet fucking Jesus shit about myself? do I fuck!
Thorazine, Prozac, sweet Valium blissful nothingness… is that going to cure my loathing of life. Why didn't you just let me die? Survival of the species, of the fittest, why go against nature? You are arrogant; you who know nothing, pretending you know everything.
I slip down the DNA spiral to my caveman ancestors wondering why they bothered passing their sperm / eggs down to this point in time. I was the full stop.
Please release the straps, my wrists are itching terribly. Of course I won't try anything stupid, not with you sitting there watching me, mouthing platitudes. Oh God, they itch so terribly, like a point of light, that first light, trying to break through the stitches.
Just give me the fucking drugs then, do you really think I care anymore, just bliss me out of this reality, this square angled horror story, give me Thorazine so I can just float through these wards like the other ghosts; if I can't be happy then at least stop me being aware.
Copyright © 2006 Tony F Paulazzo All Rights Reserved