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29 Jul 2005

how 2 beat the cut
There’s something not right that’s struggling to reach the surface when other things are proudly taking all the blame, which are my other sick disguises. Nothing is making sense, I’ve just realised it never has. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m hiding the realness of the sickness in my head with other things I know people who know me best are still reading me wrong. What is really going on Kylee, Everything is real and painful but which of it is the real stuff that is hurting and bothering me most, are the real hurtful things the only things I’m covering up about? They’re seeing me the way I am making them still, I guess I still haven’t lost my manipulative spark that my second half created. I’m covering up the deepness and the extent to which some of these things linger on and supress my thoughts. I prefere to ignore them passing you by and putting on my perfect colgate smile. I can make them easily believe I am alright. I create the feelings they read in my eyes. I’m still protecting myself, but what from?

I’ll let you know I’m struggling and want to give up sometimes, but I find I struggle to tell you exactly what from, because I am so afraid you’ll jump into my head and take it all away.. because my troubles are my security and familiarity… they have been there so long. They have been my friends when no one else was there. They grew with me. They were there with me on camp when No one else was, I stuck it through with them in my head, I fed upon them and them upon what little of me was left. Perhaps I’m not such an open book as she said after all. Well not an open book to the real pain anyway. I still battle sometimes to write the real things on my mind. I can’t write. I’m expressing my deeper pain and playing it all out through more evident and more common /acceptable weaknesses. Yet it is really other things bothering me.

Now I’m writing everything down except perhaps what is really on my mind. What is it I am hiding from when I am already in the dark and have come so far already, why am I so afraid? Why can’t I cope alone but can only find this satisfying purification alone? I crave being alone but it’s the time I know I’m most vulnerable to my enemies inside of me! Why do I enjoy their company and why have I always gone crawling back to their abuse? Why is it always when they’re away, then the demons know it’s time to come out and play. I like the night time, it’s mine. I own it. I am deprived of sleep, adding another health hazard to my famous list of addictions which I’m not to do. Restriction only feeds upon my temptation. Nothing is here besides me to think in my space and no one can steal what I am looking for besides the darkness. I’m not afraid of the dark, I’ve never been. I’m not even scared of what the darkness may contain. I’m scared of the simpler things, as in myself.

I’m panicking again, writing this now. I’m just so afraid of what I can or more what I can’t say, -|- I am so scared. I wanted to be engulfed by sleep, so I did to escape this overworked life where I think too much. Now I can’t sleep anymore, my physical reactions bounce from one extreme to the next. It’s too much for my body to respond to and to absorb. My thoughts eat away at health, my worth is detoriating. I am detoriating. Why did I ever trust me and not you? I want to take action now, but who for? Perhaps hurting is simply less draining than thinking. If I had to hurt myself after I finish writing this, would it be to prove to myself that I am sick? But why, cuz I know I am sick already! Who is being victimised? Who must I tell? I knew I wasn’t a -|- up all along but I believed it easier to be, nothingness is real. Why the -|- can’t I go back?

Such ease being alone again! Almost Silence. I only hear the clock ticking along with these rhyming thoughts, why would anyone want to waste this lonely time sleeping? This is the time when I can feel most alive! These are the times when I think I am in control but am at my weakest. My mind is so sensitive. Something is almost just not right. I know it’s all too perfect, so I’m probably at my worst. I’m lifted above this aura of haziness. Something is about to trigger me. I’m feeling this surreal feeling again, a crescendo of confusion. Whether to release it or not, I do not know, my thoughts are in a racing buzz. This shortage will become a chemicle reation. It’s only a matter of time. I don’t know if what I’m feeling is good or bad. Everything’s flowing in sync again. Thoughts like these aren’t suppose to flow unless you’re on the brink. So I suppose I’m in danger, I’m a threat upon myself…

Just carry on writing, keep these thoughts moving and you’ll be alright, these are just stages Kylee, it’ll pass, it’s all in your head, it will pass…

Why couldn’t I cope when they were gone away again these last few days but now am craving this time alone? Why didn’t I listen to a sick soul? Who must I believe? What is going on? When they left, we all predicted the obvious outcomes of me and guess what, once more I succeeded in meeting everyones’ expectations… Congratulations Kylee, you’ve done it again!! I failed in coping with daily tasks. My mind takes advantage of my weaknesses so intellegently. When I am alone, I can be who I want, do what I want and that is just too much because I’m not always too sure who’s in control of me at that time or whats right or wrong.Leaving me alone without my consent is like leaving me alone in a room with a serial rapist, something is bound to happen. Yet if someone is there I may still be in danger, but the chances of something happening is less.

I’m trying to let this feeling pass, I don’t need to act upon it this time… I can write! I can just simply write. Place the segmented fragments of words and thoughts together, its more of a challenge than carelessly slicing through feelings. Then I won’t have to have these thoughts alone! I never got in trouble for writing and it makes me feel good too.

I think I can understand, but I can’t. I don’t know me because I only know me through these words and I fear them and don’t know what I am covering up. I didn’t create these words, someone else did. I only placed a few of them together, so it can’t be who I am. It’s just my lifes plagerism of a different order, I own nothing. Who am I pretending to be OK for? What am I talking about? My heart beats so fast all the time! Perhaps because I know what it is that I want to do most. I must fight back me and even sleep to make this my time. I need to create some sort of order like I do so easily for these words, so my life can begin to make sense as do these lines.

I can’t keep it up, I need a blade or something sharp and broken which can simultaneously ease a broken heart and soul! I need something… but what??? WHAT KYLEE??? I’ve already been destroyed into so many pieces, I can’t cut myself up anymore. I’m too proud to admit the realness of my problems. I want to self destruct for all the hurt they’ve caused, they’re the victim without knowing it, yet I have to bear the scars for them. They have hurt me enough. Why can’t I think normally? This worry is my only antidote to my natural high on adrenaline and desire to break down. I need to see blood, it’s something I can associate with pain and something I know is real like I believe me to be.. I need to feel alive. I need to see the blood wash away with the pain.

I wonder too if they bleed? I can’t keep up with everybody, I’ve lost too much blood. I’m weak. Please tell me it’s OK to give up, I know I’m near the end anyway. I wonder if they ever -|- up as bad as I do? Perhaps not. I’m at the top of my game now, I’m no longer an amateur anymore. I’m going to feel the power as I make the slash. I want to silently watch my blood run...then hit the ground! Running from inside the life of me and away from me, as I wish I could have done a long time ago and as Steph did. I wish I could only be like that blood. So deep, so passionate in colour and so easily able to escape. There is so much more beneath the surface, release it and you’ll find it. The realness and taste of suffering from so close yet so few people take the chance to experience it.. You can find it whenever you want to, like I do, but be careful, they will call you mad. Stigmas are always attached to all things good, but I have stopped caring. It’s just a concept I never really understood.

Insanity is fading slowly as the words spill out of my head onto the page.. This helpless emotion has just cleared a bit. I’m beginning to think rationally again and gain strength against a self destructive urge. I don’t need to self destruct to feel good. I’ll be OK.

Why can’t I believe them when they say I’ll be alright one day? Why do I think I’ll never be over this when I am the one convincing them I will? Am I just a liar like all of them? STOP!! I need to ask myself, do I really think I’m sick? I always have my doubts but I know if I’m thinking that, I am. I’m just different, I cope differently, take on aspects differently... why must I carry on, who must I prove myself to? I’m so tired of having to, it’s all I seem to be doing. It gets me nowhere, and their minds can’t comprehend my complicated patterns of thinking. They have no right to judge. They haven’t experienced this or seen half of it. They only can experience the play that I act out. They could never experience the real emotions. But I still love them and miss them. Thoughts so tempting, thoughts are so tempting. I just want TO SHOUT ALL THE THINGS THAT I WANT… but I cannot, I would wake everybody up.I’m too contempt with the way things are now in my perfect lonely quiet little world of darkness. I don’t want anyone coming in and destroying my artificial comfort. I wish I only knew how to live this life by day.

I beat it, the hurt and anxiety has been washed away. For once I won the fight. I can stop writing now.I can proudly get up, walk away and be at peace with my head. I’m safe to stop. I’ve released what I needed to, what was stuck inside. This page can carry the burden now, not me. I can stay strong. I don’t need this. I just made a clean cut on myself without a harmful weapon or the sight of shed blood. I can learn to play the action out in my head without having to do it and I almost experienced the same sensation, the feelings were there… just not the reality.
Answer 384 views
Expert
Teen expert
teen expert

01 Jan 0001

Thanks Kylee

hopefull others can learn from your experiences, particularly how helpful writing can be in identifying and dealing with emotional pain. As you say 'handing it over' to a page can be a trememendous relief as it is then out of you, and you don't have to harm yourself.

Keep writing

Best wishes
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