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So I'm an angst inclined person. My life's swell. My family's great. Friends are good. Some of them fought recently, there are leftover tensions that are likely to never be resolved. I'm paranoid about whether i'm at the receiving end of passive aggression even though i have no clue how i messed up and there's no way to talk about without possibly ending up in a fight. I dunno. Its been bothering me because up until now, I've only been in honest open fights that came with some sense of closure, no matter which way it went. Now i feel trapped in the middle of unspoken ugliness, ego clashes, just pure self interest and self preservation even at the cost of fuck ing over others. Everyone's on moral high ground. I can't even talk about it without starting another war.
And this is silly. Right? I know in theory, that this is nothing. Just things everyone deals with. But I'm just so neurotic, and this isnt the first time, I overanalyse and end up in this horrible, familiar place where nothings worth anything anymore and cancer seems like the answer.
And I'm just wondering how do good, joyful, thankful people die and suffer from cancer and there are ass holes like me who'd clearly be more deserving.
And trust me, I know the rational answer to that sort of question. And if anyone else came to me with that sort of bullshit, itd be a piece of cake to sincerely tell whoever why that kind of musing is counterproductive and fairly pointless.
And you should know, I have gotten this upset when I got yelled at to clean my room. Or when random pedestrians get angry for bad driving. Or when a whatsapp conversation gets cut off briefly.
And i hate, loathe that I am this childish. But I'm curious now if it'll ever be that this childishness is enough to overreact and do irreparable damage someday.
Cause after a bout of paranoia - that someone i care deeply about may be punishing me and cutting me off without even telling me of an intention to do so, taking into consideration that I am just that disposable and s/he deliberately chose to be cruel conveniently over kind with mild discomfort - i wanted to try poking my hands with a knife.
I dunno if i have a serious problem worth troubling a therapist over behind my family's back, or if its just that i'll keep talking in dramatic circles for the rest of my life.
But based on the following whateveritis, what do you think?
I'll admit, part of me is hoping that Im not kidding around. I'm just that vain, I suppose.
Yeah. So here's what i wrote, right after the latest bout of overreactionary angst.
(some context - i'm catholic raised)
God, are you there?
I ll never understand you.
So I'll never know just what you expect of me.
So armed with the confidence,
That there's a negligible, no, no chance that i'll ever be able to knowingly please you,
Or knowingly truly displease you,
Or know what the limits are when it comes to asking you for things,
I'm asking you again,
Can i have your permission?
To slit my wrists in all its gory,
Pain, regret, anguish, fucking everything horrible squeezed into one moment of cathartic agony,
I don't need the comfort of letting go,
I can live with the knowledge that I am an embittered soul,
But it needs to stop, the misery,
Put me through hell, but not everlasting,
I need your permission to die, because I need this to stop,
I'm begging you, send me a sign,
That I'm free to decide my fate in the end,
That when I make my final mistake, you'll forgive me like people do,
I don't know how angry you'll be at my asking,
But at this point it's all I can do,
To stop myself from skipping ahead and doing it anyway.
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