I've done it again.
I've done it again. loathing stories

kerryjohnstone Queer poet with a lot on their mind
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
When life get tough its hard as hell to remove or even deal with the thoughts in your head... but in the end you just have to keep going.

I've done it again.

By KerryJohnstone

I’ve done it again, slipped into the darkness of my own self destruction. I've pulled firmly down on the lever switching my brain into overdrive.

Nothing is quiet.

In blood, spirits and smoke I find my comfort. Numbing the thoughts I’ve swallowed for months that Fear fed to me in droplets thanks to people I thought I knew.

Its hard to feel good, when everything feels so wrong.

Over time its easier to feel lonely and shut in even when you live with those you trust most. Its getting harder to feel happy when I repress myself back into the smallest corners of my head but its all i know of self preservation.

I can sit for hours in a room full of people and talk and smile I can play the best friend, the good daughter, and the joker… but every day they become a distant memory of who I long to be.

Family was once all I had, all I was but every month I lose one by one but not to the darkness after life but rather red raw anger inside each of us.

As I grow and change and take possession of who I am, its decided that I am not who I am.

I am disrespect full. I am selfish. I am the ungrateful child who grew up to be the despicable teen who grew up to be out of control.

I am who I am and thats who I am and I love… I loved myself. Just when I think I have discovered who I am, when I have finally reclaimed my body as my own I find my self painfully rejected by those I love the most.

I am torn between that which my family will me to be and who I really am. Finally governing my own athourity over my body it is soon destroyed by that which has created me.

I owe her my life but not my body, everything which I own but not my body, all that I adorn and care for... But not MY BODY. I owe her my spirt. My life force. But do I owe her my body?

I’ve heard the words, I feel the words. For god sake i'd rather be kicked in the chest than bare the weight of those agonising words dropped onto my shoulders by those I cared for.

I have chosen my family. My friends. But words of my pain will never meet their ears because...

How to you tell your friends that when it comes down to it everything is just to much.

How do you tell them your tired because you don’t sleep anymore because your worrying every second that your mother hates you and that everyone on the other side forgot you exist…

How do you tell them you drink every night to numb the voice in your head screaming at you telling you everything thats ever been used to hurt you, repeating it over and over again until it finally tells you to…

How do you tell your friends that your thighs are a canvas that you use silver brushes on, spelling out sad stories in red.

How do you tell your friends you’ve traced your skin back and forth draw guidelines like a doctor before surgery, you’ve noted the hight from your door to the world down to reality, that you’ve studied the angles of your roof and questioned how much weight will light bare? will my darkness be to heavy?

How do you tell your friends you smoke because when your lungs burn at every inhale it reminds you that through the numbness your still alive

Because I am still alive and I need to keep it that way.

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