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How do I hurt myself?
Everyone’s a little self destructive, here or there. It is ‘t a matter of “if”, but a question of “how”.
I draw no blood. I couldn’t even try, knowing what I know. When you see the crowning achievement of a blade, or as I had the masterful work of a rifled barrel, it ruins the surprise. There’s no need, I’ve seen it all before. Perhaps it’s pity for the poor thing, or maybe just a fear of conformity. I’m just too good for bloodshed.
I couldn’t be dependent on man’s great mind altering chemicals, not in the way I use them. Drinking alone is for the weak willed, and anything stronger gives me a blistering headache. What good is the bottom of a bottle when all you can see out the glass is the judgement of your peers? If I’m to make a fool of myself it should be better than drunken rambling. I’ll enjoy my liquor instead, thank you.
No, I’m much too convoluted to hurt myself like that. It needs to have an impact greater than myself. What am I, if not an unstoppable force upon the loves of others? Could I really die content knowing that in the grand illusion of life, I will be a fuzzy memory? I want to leave a mark- no, I want to leave a scar.
My self destruction is social. It’s complicated; I see the craft from the artwork. I need to cause chaos that I alone can stand in the center and feel like the whipping winds of a cyclone. There’s serenity at the eye of a storm, but to get there you need to break through the wall.
I pit friends against each other to watch them tear themselves apart. I break relationships mightier than my own because I have a wonderfully wicked way with words (and a pretty face, too). For as many deeds as I commit, nothing hurts more than breaking my poor defenseless lovers.
I can’t help it, I’m the kind of irresistible that reels them in like flies to a flame. It’s in my eyes, the two-toned beauty of an iris cleft by color. It’s in my voice, the deep timbre of a soft drone that lulls you to sleep. It’s in my hips, the motions of confidence and the alluring sweep of a hand across a tearful cheek. I am an insatiable itch, and I tend to have my choice of partner.
There’s a sort of emotional weakness and vulnerability that I crave in a relationship. I desire an almost complete dependance from another, else the worry sets in. I want to be what determines a decision in their mind, I want to be the first consideration, I want to be the thing that keeps someone up at night because they know damn well what they said and they couldn’t take it back unless they threw themselves at my feet and begged. I must be excellent. I cannot be a convenience.
I used to think that my little charade was something that ailed me. I had thought that the tactics I used to maintain that obsessive attention were simply out of my control; that I had an ailment I couldn’t cure myself of. But this act, this illusion of injury, it was a lure. I drag them down inch by painstaking inch until they’ve come too far to find their way out. The only solution is to keep going forward, because I know how to pick a partner who just doesn’t have the strength to feel their way through the darkness alone.
I can’t help but hurt these relationships, and my confusion rests firmly upon why I do it. Do I believe that Imm better without them? That they are better without me? Or is it that I don’t deserve to have them? Perhaps it’s simply my own dependence on others for validation, for that feeling of being exceptional.
I will not be a commodity.
I will be the driving force behind the both of us, so help me God.
Or you will have nothing left.
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I think you just like drama in your life. For some reason it makes you feel good. Your brain chemistry must have been altered at a young age. Maybe your self conscious about yourself and your own problems. I also have issues. I know my past. I've deleted all my social network apps and have broke all my friendships from the past. I honestly don't think you want to self destruct. I think if you really wanted to you coulda done it. I've attempted suicide like 6 times in a period of 10 years and I lived through all of them. And I know when I get like that again I got a gun. I think you should talk to God.
ReplyI’m sorry you hurt so much you want to see others hurt. I hope you can find out where it comes from someday and realize how wrong you actually are.
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