Am I going mad, you think?
My head is full of my own voice telling me how worthless I am, how stupid I am, how weak I am. I just want the noise to stop but when it stops, the empty silence is almost worse. A judging silence. It's like I'm not talking but the tape is still playing on silent.
I don't hate myself all the time anymore. There are weeks, months when I'm fairly satisfied with who I am. Other times, I fantasize about driving my car into the concrete dividers on the interstate. Really, how much more could that hurt than the pain of those nights when my skull is cracking from the pressure of my thoughts?
There are days I don't think of dying. I think of being beaten, black and blue and purple. I feel so much guilt. It's like I'm being drowned with water from the inside. I'm so heavy, so suffocated. So wrong. I just want to not feel so bad. If someone hit me, really hit me then it let the air out of me. If I clawed my skin, beat my head into the floor until it turned red, if I threw myself in traffic, the pain would make it all stop for a minute. I want that minute.
And I would feel so relieved to be punished for my failures.
Do you know what it is to fail and fail and fail and to know that others see you failing, hate you for failing, feel sorry for you failing but never punish or help you? Never. I'm drowning in my primordial mess.
I'm so tired.
I'm so, so tired.
And I'd welcome a little peace from myself.
I'm so tired but sleep never helps.
And maybe my voice will stop yelling at me and maybe the silence in my head won't be so bad this time.
And maybe tomorrow will be better.
I don't really have much faith in maybe.