Y3 D41

The thoughts are pushing very hard right now. All I picture is pools of blood. My blood. Smeared across the walls and ending it all. Pure blackness. I am in so much agony inside my head. I want to scream but feel like I have no mouth. I feel hopeless and alone. I feel like every movement of my body is a giant exertion and I can't take much more. I am tired of just trying to 'keep going'. Can't it all just be over? Nothing makes sense any more. The despair is creeping up on me like a shadow. No joy from anything. I tried thinking of things that brought me pleasure in the past and why I don't do them any more. I came up blank. I need to run. I need to run until my blood flows like battery acid. I want to delete everything. All presence on the web. I want to not exist. To be a ghost. Maybe then the memories and the thoughts will subside. Constant connection is not the panacea they promised. 24 hour access to everything, everyone, all the time is not the savior. It's hell. It's damnation. It's ripping my soul out and leaving me empty and less connected than ever before. Instead, let me vanish in the crowd. Let me be anonymous. Everyone I know goes away in the end. I am unlovable, undesirable, unwanted. I am every un- there has ever been. I have no life. Nothing more than existence. I take up space. I want to be invisible. My life is a series of meaningless minutes that string together into meaningless hours and meaningless days. My birthday? Fuck that. Another reminder of everything I HAVEN'T accomplished? Of everything I have LOST? Of everything I will NEVER have again?

9 minutes.

How I wish.

How I wish I could have the courage. I am too weak. Just like everything else I am a failure at being a failure. I can't even destroy things properly. The only person in the world who can fuck up at fucking up. I wish I had the strength to give up. I wish I had the courage to push that person in front of the bus. To drive the car into oncoming traffic. To pour nitroglycerin into the computers in every office building. To light the world on fire. To be the spark that makes it burn. But I can't. I am weak. I am not the person I wish I was. I don't fuck like I want to. I don't look like I want to. I need an imaginary friend. I need someone to be me for a little while. Be the me I want to be but can't break free long enough to be.

8 minutes.

Yeah. Sure. Then what? I click 'Save' and I do exactly what I don't want to do in paragraph one. I leave another trace. Another footprint. Another remnant of a life not worth living. An excuse for an existence. Alone. Silent. Afraid. Angry. Frustrated. Tired. Resigned. Erased.

I am damaged beyond repair. Cannot fix this broken machine.

Yes, I quote. I quote because the words express what my feeble mind can't. I don't have the words to say the things I want to say. Can't you tell from the ramblings on the last 800 posts? It's all just a jumbled mess unless I quote. The words allow me to say what I don't know how to say on my own.

Quiet. Inside my head. All around me things keep going. I wonder if anyone else feels like this. I wonder how they cope and how they function. How does the average person not want to blow their fucking head off every single day.

I dislike the guy who sits next to me. He is too loud. Too arrogant. A reflection? Maybe. But not here. Here I am something else. I am not the same person I am elsewhere. I am never the same person. I am just whatever mask I need to wear for the situation. The father. The employee. The stranger. The performer. All masks. Here I am free. Free to be who I really am, in print at least. And to do that sometimes I need to take words from other's mouths. I have spent so long wearing masks I don't have words of my own. The thoughts I can call my own are diseased and damaged. There is nothing but noise. Static.

Did I mention LO texted me on Sunday? She finally responded to my drunken ramblings I sent here a week earlier. It was one of those late night texts where I told her how I missed her. Nothing bad or evil, just that I missed her. Silly. Holding on to once again something I can never have. She didn't respond for almost a week. That bruised the ego even further. Then randomly on Sunday she texts back apologizing for taking so long to get back to me. And that I should never apologize, nor should I say 'never'. Some day she said. Who knows what can happen she said. Then she goes on to tell me she wants her first tattoo. She wants my approval on the ink itself and where she puts it on her body. Why my approval? Am I ever going to see it? Am I ever going to run my fingers over the spot where she marks herself? I don't know, but I seriously doubt it.

Running my fingers over skin. Feeling the warmth of blood flowing through the body. I long for it. I need it. I desire it. Someone touching me in return. Despite being a psycho bitch, one moment sticks in my mind - waking up to find her staring at my chest tracing the ink with her fingers. A quiet intimate moment that meant so much. She could have killed me right then and I would have still remembered the pleasure of her fingers running over my chest. The times X2 would run her fingers over my back in the dark. The small moments of physical connection without words.

No words.

As much as I write I long for the silence. The moments where more is said in nothing than a thousand speeches or a million words in print. The moments where there is nothing but the connection of persons and they KNOW the silence says more. The silence of pleasure. The silence of anger. It doesn't matter because a connection is made. A true connection. Not just another surface fleeting moment. No. The moment that is etched in your brain until you die. I have those. They burn and scream at me. They taunt me on a daily basis. I feel them still. I know they are possible and yet like the butterfly so far out of reach. I can't have them right now. I don't think I can ever have them again. It's all so...

There, I have done it again. I have run out of coherent thoughts. It's jumbled again. All together in one screaming blinding flash of pain. So much blood for such a tiny hole.

I need someone to hold on to.

It's still getting worse after everything I've tried. What if I found a way to wash it all aside? What if she touches with those fingertips as the words spill out like fire from her lips? If she says come inside I'll come inside for her. If she says give it all I'll give everything to her. I still dream of lips I never should have kissed. Well she knows exactly what I can't resist. She's turning me into someone else. Every day I hope and pray that this will end.But when I can I do it all again. As surely as the blade's course is run, maybe my kingdom's finally come.

I don't know what's going to happen, but what can I say to you? Will "I'm sorry" make a difference? Will it ease the pain? The shame you must be feeling? Forgive me, please.