Why is there so much movement and nonstop thought in my brain at freaking 3 am!?
Guilt is back…..
Time for my pep talk.
It’s the only way I know to fight back against my greatest threat….
I don’t think it’s hate.
I doubt it’s blame.
I don’t know how to feel about the people that gave me my name.
But what do I do with the pain that keeps coming back?
I go forward, I try not to look behind.
This mind of mine is so restless and twisting, I go back to the guilt like a bleeding wine.
I want to hit.
I want to bite.
Scratch, tear, rip, break their fucking necks!!
I want people to hurt like I do, but I could never willingly hurt anybody.
I don’t think I pity myself.
I’m just disappointed….In my…. Hell, I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it…..
I wish I could explain why I am the way I am….Why my mind won’t let me be.
It’s like a wind-up toy with a fucked up eternal spring.
There’s always so much noise, no real clarity of thought.
Bobbing for apples, so to say.
The little monkey cymbal crasher in my head, little shit eating grin….
I wake up “Please let me sleep!”
“Write Trey… Write! ”
Get it out!
Lance the boil
Suck out the poison and spit out the crazy!
I am in a dysfunctional relationship with myself.
I love me, oh so much.
But I wait for me around dark corners, in the shadows.
To do me harm….
It’s slipping away…. My mind is not my own anymore.
What will I become when I can’t…?
I’m losing my mind. I fear this….
Who lives like this…?
A hermit on the highway…
No personal human contact…
The voices and thoughts in my head are a clamor.
They won’t let me be….
I have fought them for soo long.
My strength is waning….
I am losing hope.
At least my kids are happy, that I am sure of.
Suicide is wrong.
Suicide is selfish.
Suicide is for quitters.
Suicide is for the people that find the headless, hanging, bloated corpse.
That find… The note.
Presentation is everything…..
The ghost in the room screaming “You made me do this, it’s your fault!”
The finder feels bad for a while, then forgets…..
Time heals all wounds.
Unless you’re in a box or stylish urn….
If I killed myself?
“Well, I always figured it would happen to this prick”
“Damn, Now I’ve got to clean the carpet and repaint the walls”
Thanks a lot Trey.
Fuck you, the horse you rode in on, your fucking little dog too…
I can beat this.
Just like I beat the little boy rapers.
Just like I survived my parents and theirs….
Fuck you I say….
I am not done changing.
I am not done growing.
I am not done…..
Until I am done.
I am THE MAN.
I can fix me.
I will never hear the last second of my life tick by….
I’ll still be working on me…..
Okay…. My mind is clear now.
I have worked thru the remnants of a bad dream I must have been having.
Don’t dreams remind you of a one night stand sometimes?
Unfulfilled and with no contact info.
Thanks for listening to my self therapy.