You don’t understand

You don’t understand why I get so upset.

You don’t understand why everything must be just so.

You don’t understand why I ask you to do this or to do that.

You don’t understand why lose my temper over something that seems trivial.

You don’t understand why all the little things build up and boil over inside my brain.

Churning and burning until I

EXPLODE

Slam the door

Pull my hair

Scream

Cry

You don’t understand how I’m hurting inside.

And I have no control.

You don’t understand.

 

© Manic Monday (manicmonday123). Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Manic Monday (manicmonday123) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Self Punishment

***WARNING: Emotionally charged.***

Why do I punish myself?  Isn’t it enough that the rest of the world is willing to do it for me?

I’m not talking about flogging (like medieval Catholic monks) or cutting or anything like that.  I’m talking about mental abuse.  I mentally abuse myself by telling myself how worthless I am, how incompetent, how useless. How I deserve to have bad things happen to me.

Why do I do this? Why? Why? Why?

I’ve made mistakes in my life.  I’m not perfect.  I’ve done things I’ve regretted because I was manic or hurting or just plain stupid at the time.  I’ve hurt people with my cutting words, and I use them on myself just as readily.  Maybe that’s why I figure it’s OK.  It’s OK to hurt someone else because I do it to myself.  All’s fair, right?  At least I’m not biased in that.

Or maybe it’s because my parents taught me I am not good enough.  My ex affirmed it with every strike of his fist.  It must be true.

I’ve even got a playlist guaranteed to make me cry.  “Unwell” (Matchbox Twenty), “Lithium” & “Imaginary” & “Tourniquet” (Evanescence), “Wasting My Time” (Default), “Away from the Sun” & “Loser” (3 Doors Down), “Paint it Black” & “Mother’s Little Helper” (Rolling Stones) – you get the picture.  I’ll listen to it over and over again until the pain eases, until the tears subside, or until I’m too exhausted to keep fighting.

My head pounds without hurting – as if someone is walking through it slamming doors, hitting walls, smashing, stabbing, choking.  My mind is a jumble.  It’s a struggle to breathe.  Tears stream from my eyes like a river.  Sometimes I’m screaming, slamming the doors, pounding the floor – sometimes I’m curled up rocking.  Just like the crazy person your mother warned you about.

Out of control.  With no way of grasping the reins of sanity.

God help me.  Except God and I aren’t on speaking terms.  How can we be?  Where is He when I need Him the most?  When my soul is drowning in my own mind. Fear.  Panic.  Pain. Torture.

Don’t you dare put me in a hospital.  It’s bad enough that I’m caught in HELL.  I don’t want to be trapped there.

My soul is bleeding. Screaming in silence. Why can’t anyone hear me?  Why can’t anyone save me?

 

© Manic Monday (manicmonday123). Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Manic Monday (manicmonday123) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.