Confessions of a tired being

I fantasize about being kidnapped and kept by some overbearing obsessive lover. I want to be stalked, and followed and feel like i'm someones fixation.

But I also know that no matter who takes me will eventually hate me. So the point feels mute. They have to hate me in the end, theres no other option. It always works that way.

So it would be easier to just be killed. And what if I turn it around and kill them instead?

I dont belong in this world, i should be in other realities. On adventures. Finding my soulmate. Being who I should be. Not this thing I've been crushed into..

i'm not afraid of death. Death will mean freedom. I've wanted to die since I was a little kid and nothing has changed.

I want to forget every moment growing up, I want to be human. I want to feel like more then a body to be used.

I grew up with dreams of running away and leading crusades, I wrote wills and personal philosophies for people to follow. Sometimes I feel like the answer is so clear and no one is paying attention to the truth thats right there ingront of them. We're so close to the end. The Apocalypse is coming. If I had more will in me could I have helped? Was all those dreams of greatness as a kid just madness?

Growing up I was so lonely, and I had an imaginary friend well into being 17. They wanted me to practice fighting, to be ready to kill to make it out. They convinced me to run away. They were all I had when I was treated like an invisible entity. Only acknoledged for doing something wrong. And now.. Going into my late twenties that friend is still there, echoing bak into my head over and over and over and over and over over and over. They're my therapist, my psychologist, my only friend. But they're help is what I fear.

Theres a man who lives in my dreams, his eyes are green. He has shaggy black hair. He wears black clothing with red accents. I can never see his face, I can never meet his eyes all the way. But he is always smiling. His arms are warm. When I die I hope I see him again..

Recently I had a dream where I was chased down and flipped over, gutted open with a knife. But when I looked up it was me, and it was me looking down. The blood was hot and it didn't hurt, I was smiling..

Everyday its harder to push down the thoughts. I have so many knives, and I want to relapse to hurting myself again. But It doesnt feel like the pain I inflict on myself is real. How do I know if its really happening? How do I know if killing myself will really end things? In my dreams I can get hurt and it feels as real as real life. Which one is real?

If I lost the internet i'd lose a sense of worth

Its always just a matter of time before I bite my own foot again, really shoving that thing in my mouth right now.

I just want to feel okay again

My skin is not my own, I am falling behind it. It inches forward while I turn and run the other way. There is no severing, only distance.

I yearn for people who'll understand me, for the world that wants me. I enter into peoples lives, only to watch what I was able to grasp crumble when I speak.

Where and when will my life really start? Sometimes the internet is all I have. Sometimes I have nothing. I have no direction, no options. What I crave is unatainable, my head echoes and echoes. Bouncing every horrible thought and memory around. The clones chatter needlessly about everything that hurts me, reveling in the internal anguish as they kill eachother with their bare hands. For every 5 clones there is a Fallen. And they persist. When my hands tremble over the knife I remember that night. As though I was in that doorway again, desperate to be freed. Craving the existence outside of the house. I had a chance, a moment. I could have been free years ago.

Sometimes I wonder if my life would have better if i'd accepted my fate that night.

If I hadn't given up she would have stayed.

Why do I have to raise others up when no one bothers to help me?

Why should I do anything for anyone when they wont return the favor?? I didn't used to care about this, but I want to know why I get the short end?

If I slit my neck and bent over the patio railing. When would I stop seeing the blood drop?

All I'm getting is empty promises and empty confirmations. If you really cared about me wouldnt you at least act concerned?

I really want to try and do it thsi time. I want to know for sure. And end it.

I dont have a plan for it yet, but I'm looking for the right answer. He wont do it for me.

I'm too weak to do it myself. I dont feel like I deserve to do it myself, it should be someone with the Disease.

I've imagined my trial a million times. I watch their faces turn to disgust when I admit what i've done. Why theres blood under my nails. And when I yell, scream and beg for them to listen to WHy. They're statues. I beg and beg for the death penalty. I admit to it all. And they tell me to rot. Or they try to institute me. And then i'm suspended in nothingness. Drowning under their eyes and medications.

Have been afraid to see a psychologist for a long time. But Everything I want to tell them about how I feel will have me in a psyche ward. I can't put him through paying for that and the apartment on his own.

Sometimes I wonder if I could get away with it.

But I think we all know i'm not smart enough to.

I dont live in a dark horror fantasy novel, but god does it feel like I should be.

They just want my body

Even when he isn't awake

Even when all I want is to be held and to feel comforted.

There is always an alterior motive

Whats left of me? When it comes down to the nitty gritty, what am I really?

What i really want is someone to try and come at me, I want the chance to experience being me. Being the real me. I want there to be blood, for my smile to be genuine. Not an instant reaction. To be bitter and ugly and REAL.