Emotions

My insides boil, lit with the flame of self righteous rage and loathing for the ones who’ve put me in this mess. I want to do something to numb it, but no medication can help. There’s no water to quench this wildfire inside of me and I hate it.

     I want to tear myself apart, remove every part of me that you touched, every part of me that you’ve seen. I want to shed my flesh, peel it from ivory bone as easily as well-cooked meat. You make me want to destroy myself.

      My ribs should be cracked open, give me space for my hands to reach in and remove my useless heart and all its many, barely functioning pieces. Feelings mean nothing to me. I don’t want them to mean anything, I want to be free of the leaden chains that drag me through this hell over and over. A nightmare never ending, like the terrors I see at night in my sleep but worse.

      The way my chest aches, my soul screams and my whole being convulses for something I never even had is agony. You took it away from me, ripped it from my tiny hands for the first time when I was only but a few years old. It evades me, the things we could have had if you hadn’t been so fucking stubborn and selfish.

      Because I’m so used to being deprived of it, I won’t let anyone else give it to me. Even when I need it most. Even when it’s the only thing that can soothe the inferno inside me and heal my stinging wounds.

      I’m too afraid. What if I find that feeling, that wholeness and completeness only for it to be torn from me again? What would I do?

      Even though I’ve convinced myself I don’t need it, there’s a part of me that longs for it.

      Helpless to be washed away with the flow of my humanity, my emotions and my inhibitions, I can do nothing but grasp desperately for something to hold onto. My heart continues to break, it remains in pieces permanently. And I’m fine that way now, now that I’ve accepted that this is my fate.

      A fate that you brought upon me. You came to me in the night, when I was little more than an infant, face down in my bed and unsuspecting only for you to suffocate me with it like a pillow over my mouth and nose.

      Kicking and screaming I tried my hardest to hold onto it, and the moment it slipped from my fingers still haunts me to this day.

      The moment I realized I’d only been attached to a ghost of what I thought had been there all along, a mere phantom in the night passing me by at times just to taunt me. Just as I reach out for it, it once again disappears. It’s a cycle of torture, every time just as my cuts have scabbed over they are reopened and I’m left to bleed.

      When they say life is a highway, I think mine is nothing but dangerous curves, boulders that tumble down into the road from mountains that line it. It’s only just begun to smoothen out a little, but I know better than to get comfortable with it.

      If all of life is only a fight, a struggle, then why am I here? Why do I keep letting you beat me down and take control of me? I’m tired and I don’t know how much more I can take before I start hitting back. Or have I started to already?