What kind of paradise am I looking for?
This loneliness burns my heart.
I associate myself with people I don't feel I have a place amongst. My male and basically only companion, holds my heart close to his, and plays a harsh game of voodoo doll with it. Though he is linked to me by mysterious means, he doesn't seem to know as much of me as he should (and dares not to be there to show me I'm still the woman he claims to love rather then some fictitious character who plays social). One person knows me that well, which I find odd that such a human exists. Reading what they wrote me not to long ago struck me as dead on (whereas I'm generally just a jumble of assumptions).
I do feel like my life will end instantaniously to my own hand (though years from now). Spur of the moment or riding some delerium or pitless depression. I may even be in a constant state of apathy and numbness. As much as I sound like I bring this on myself, I try to be a better person, I try to enjoy the little things and the few moments of bliss I have. I try to keep on good sides of my companions and I try to ignore the sexual assults of the past, the irritating flaws these people possess and how little they care about others. Then horrible monsters spring forth within me and I hate these people, I hate my job for helping people, I hate myself for being alive and incapable of total disassociation from people (and no gonads to finish myself, thinking I'm just hopeful for good things to come).
When I'm happy, it's due to drugs or being capable of making people do something to my wishes (moreso mentally suggesting it...I'm sorry, but it seems I can do such a thing, though I end up worrying that they may hear my insults). My happiness is far removed from myself as though I'm playing a part, being deceptive and putting on a flawless show. My emotions aren't really my own. I live in some fantasy world where I'm this made up person, where no one sees what I see, where no one can get to who I am. Where I can no longer be hurt because I'm so desensitized to reality until I'm in the depths of blankets and pillows where no one dares to find me and where my remnants of human emotion escape.
I think of hiding from social expectations and people I can't associate with in a hospital. Forget the world outside of tightly sealed windows and "medications". I would be sedated and live in my head, manipulating the lives of people in my fantacies. He was going to commit me when I lost myself so many odd times. He couldn't bring himself to betray me, as if it would be any worst then anything he has done before. They couldn't treat me any worse then I treat myself and who knows what crackpot theories they will come up with to "heal" me. How much Risperdal they will give me until I finally overdose.
The last day I have to rest has withered away before me. I must reside in my secure dream world and find some peace through it all.
I associate myself with people I don't feel I have a place amongst. My male and basically only companion, holds my heart close to his, and plays a harsh game of voodoo doll with it. Though he is linked to me by mysterious means, he doesn't seem to know as much of me as he should (and dares not to be there to show me I'm still the woman he claims to love rather then some fictitious character who plays social). One person knows me that well, which I find odd that such a human exists. Reading what they wrote me not to long ago struck me as dead on (whereas I'm generally just a jumble of assumptions).
I do feel like my life will end instantaniously to my own hand (though years from now). Spur of the moment or riding some delerium or pitless depression. I may even be in a constant state of apathy and numbness. As much as I sound like I bring this on myself, I try to be a better person, I try to enjoy the little things and the few moments of bliss I have. I try to keep on good sides of my companions and I try to ignore the sexual assults of the past, the irritating flaws these people possess and how little they care about others. Then horrible monsters spring forth within me and I hate these people, I hate my job for helping people, I hate myself for being alive and incapable of total disassociation from people (and no gonads to finish myself, thinking I'm just hopeful for good things to come).
When I'm happy, it's due to drugs or being capable of making people do something to my wishes (moreso mentally suggesting it...I'm sorry, but it seems I can do such a thing, though I end up worrying that they may hear my insults). My happiness is far removed from myself as though I'm playing a part, being deceptive and putting on a flawless show. My emotions aren't really my own. I live in some fantasy world where I'm this made up person, where no one sees what I see, where no one can get to who I am. Where I can no longer be hurt because I'm so desensitized to reality until I'm in the depths of blankets and pillows where no one dares to find me and where my remnants of human emotion escape.
I think of hiding from social expectations and people I can't associate with in a hospital. Forget the world outside of tightly sealed windows and "medications". I would be sedated and live in my head, manipulating the lives of people in my fantacies. He was going to commit me when I lost myself so many odd times. He couldn't bring himself to betray me, as if it would be any worst then anything he has done before. They couldn't treat me any worse then I treat myself and who knows what crackpot theories they will come up with to "heal" me. How much Risperdal they will give me until I finally overdose.
The last day I have to rest has withered away before me. I must reside in my secure dream world and find some peace through it all.
posted by Nico | 20:03
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