Just Crawl In Your Hole and Rot

I recently (okay, it was some weeks ago, but recent enough) made yet another morbid tweet, this one talking about putting my hand in a blender…stopping!…Then continuing to make mash of my hand because I have to. Not a good thought, and as of this writing (made this the same time as the tweet, and I schedule my postings because SMART) I don’t really know how the world is taking it (if at all). I assume it’s making others uncomfortable, but it’s what’s in my head. If I don’t get it out, it’s just going to stew and I might end up putting my hand in a blender for real. That I already “put my hand in a blender” despite the release I give myself is another thing altogether.

I’m abusive to myself. The world has done its duty and taught me I am filth, and I take on the task of abuse “joyously” with the knowledge I’m doing the right thing. I make sure I’m out of sight and ear of others and…a roar of rage, vomit of slurs, bite of the hand, punch to something solid, slap across my face, more than a simple smack to my forehead, scratching the lengths of my arms…I am not proud of any of this, and we should all know how this perpetual engine works by now. These “small” instances of abuse are really just a taste of what’s in my head, which yearns for a peace had only in unconsciousness. That I can only attain it through wretched hours of loathing or a drastic action is the troubling part.

While suicide is always seen as the last resort after disconnecting from everything I adore and thus destroy, “reason” continues to say why even bother the disconnect when you’re just wasting the world’s time? Jumping from a high location and hanging are high on the list of acts, though my “preferred” means to head out feels…comforting to me? I think it has to do with letting out the rage on myself, the last act of how hated I am. But enough stalling, it would involve smashing my face into hard rock until I just can’t due to the pain or more than likely unconsciousness. This of course wouldn’t finish the job, so I would need someone else to complete the smashing so it’s done right, because waking up and living to what I would be after that is hell unto itself. However, I don’t think any of the people I would trust with such a thing would follow through (thank god), so there goes that “fantasy” from ever happening.

I honestly don’t care if that sounds fucked up. It’s real, it needs to get out, and that’s all that matters. The world would say there’s a better and more private way to work this out, so I’ll just give an equation: No doctors to privately speak on these manners because there’s no money. No money to pay for said doctors because I have no job skills. No job skills because I’m a loser who spent almost ten years of his adult life hidden from the world with no one to talk to but my family…whom I hardly spoke with at all. Nuff said. So it’s easy to see why I’ve floundered on being able to communicate with anyone on any sort of level that’s stable or sane. And while I’ve made attempts to try and change things, I tire of trying to relate with others…which brings me to the point of airing out all my self abuse.

Social functions are loathsome to me. They are disappointing and embarrassing for all parties subject to my presence. Every time I begin to feel better about myself, I forget how I eventually begin to feel at gatherings. I may even have a fun time in the first few hours, tricking myself into thinking everything will be okay. Then my mind slowly begins to fill with sick, and I need to leave for fear of what I may say or do (or not say or do, which is just as bad). If I can’t leave (for whatever reason), I loathe myself all the more for allowing the circumstance to come about. It’s wretched for me and it’s especially wretched for others, because those feels just return back to me. And while more are now aware of my social issues, I think it’s made things worse than better…or maybe it’s just an issue of the amount of time that’s passed? Whatever, rolling with this thought.

People continue to think by being happy and accepting and giving “the magic touch” that everything will turn out alright. Good intentions, thankful ones, but they really only serve to make things worse when I don’t/can’t reciprocate, or even give initiative. It gets to the point where I’m seen as doing something wrong (or I believe it to be the case), and it’s asked, “What the fuck’s his problem?” Aside from what’s already been said, my problem is I’m not a switch. I don’t act a certain way or do things because you want me to. Those things are out of your control just as they are out of mine. Knowing this doesn’t help the fact I still see myself as shit when I perceive a response like the one above, real or imagined.

If I’m around others it’s usually because I trick myself into believing I’m needed for more than just an email or phone correspondence, and my presence is necessary for the good time of others. It is never like that, or at least it feels that way, and it’s well noted how trustworthy my feelings and thoughts are. But the thought takes hold when I finish going over the catch-up with folk, fumble communication afterword, and continue to lie to myself that I’m needed/wanted/etc. while a gathering goes on without my input. The thought thrives on the “logic” of knowing better, while my stupid hope of having it possibly be otherwise remains…and thus damns me.

My eventual leave doesn’t end the sick, but when it takes root. The first moment I manage to find myself alone (usually driving in my car), I give into the frustration: screaming, cursing myself, and slamming my limbs into things I deem alright to damage…though it’s usually myself that’s hurt in the long run. My mind races over circumstance of how things played out, how they could have played out (for better or worse), and my mind won’t shut up. Because it won’t shut up, it’s beaten like a child until it’s so sorry to have ever thought a certain way, even if the thought could be sensibly good to another. The perpetual engine runs its course, and I will likely disappear from the world days at a time, and look dead should I have to show my face. Such is the abuse I put myself through. And I do it again and again because I must put my hand in the blender.

The cycle is ever the same: I set myself up for good potential, fumble magnificently, retreat and beat myself for my transgressions. It’s not worth it. Having to deal with the emotional and physical baggage is not worth going through any gathering I know will just screw me over. And I hate myself all the more for it. I understand there’s no one wanting me to punish myself for any reason (though it’s understood I’m pissing people off on some level, because that’s just the nature of the beast). But knowledge and being capable of utilizing it are very different, and I would love to do away with this broken behavior hardwired within me. Already have enough scars and hindrances upon my mind and body, and I tire of feeling sick when I look into a mirror.

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