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Hey everyone, I know I haven’t posted in a while and well I’d love to say it’s because I’m busy with university or friends or relationships or life in general, but it’s not really any of those things.

The desire to write, the desire to create, that I once had is all gone. I can’t sit myself down and write a poem about how I’m feeling anymore. I guess I’ve moved on to other methods of dealing with it. Counseling is great and all, but you can’t have a counselor with you all the time.

But I’m getting off topic. My main point today is that I’m deleting this blog soon. Probably within a few days, I reckon. I’ll leave it up for about another week just in case anyone is interested in reading my posts for the last time. I won’t put my personal thoughts on the matter, but I just feel like the time to rid myself of this monument to my failure is approaching rather rapidly.

I hope that everyone who reads this succeeds in life and that everything gets better. I did enjoy reading some of the things that people posted and I hope that some of you kind people enjoyed what I wrote.

Regardless, this and everything else I wrote or reposted or whatever will be gone in a week. Farewell friends, and good luck with your lives.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

One, two, three.

One.

I count every punch as my knuckles make contact with the punching bag. Every hit relinquishes some anger and frustration, but without gloves, it also brings forth pain. The pain brings forth more anger and frustration causing me to stay in a continuous cycle.

However, it’s a cycle I’m used to being in. Pain causes anger, anger causes hate, hate causes rage, rage causes pain, and so on and so forth.

I’m comfortable in this cycle because I’ve known it for so long. It’s as much a part of me as the hair on my head or the tattoo on my chest.

“GAH!” I shout as I land a final blow on the bag, sending it swinging backwards. I stand in front of my swinging “foe” as I try to catch my breath.

As I bring my right hand up to my face to wipe the sweat from my brow, I notice my hand being covered in a dark red liquid, slowly emanating from my knuckles. I look at my left hand and notice that it too is being covered with my blood.

A new message notification startles me from my dark distraction. Another message notification goes off before I begin to walk over to my phone and pick it up to see who had texted me.

Two messages from two different people. Old friends.

‘No, they aren’t friends, boy’ says the Darkness in my head.

You’re right, I correct myself. Old problems.

I read the first message: “Hey, it’s been awhile, man, why don’t we hangout sometime soon?”

I clench my fists as my lips draw up into a snarl.

Quickly, I respond.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you spineless fuck?” I send back.

Quickly, I move to the next message: “Hey, I know that you’ve been isolating yourself and cutting out a lot of people, including me. What you’re doing is unhealthy and I think we should talk.”

‘Let’er have it.’ The Darkness orders.

Immediately I respond:

“Don’t try to talk to me like you care or know what’s going on. How dare you think you know what’s best for me when your own life is falling apart. I’ve been cutting out problems in my life recently, and it just so happens that you’re one of them. So go fuck yourself, and stay out of my life: Because I don’t need, nor do I want you, in it.”

I lay my phone down and let out a warrior’s yell as I go back to beating the punching bag. Over and over, my fists connect to the bag as my blood flies away. By the time I run out of energy, the blood from my hands has turned the white target on the bag a solid crimson color.

I grab my phone and put it in my pocket and turn to walk away. As I leave, the Darkness speaks:

‘See? You’re stronger without them. They all speak lies. They’re trying to hurt you. Trying to bring you close before kicking you down. Not me. No no no. I’m trying to build you up. I’m giving you strength. You need me, just as I need you.’

I stare up at my ceiling in my room from where I lie on my bed. On the outside, I am calm and relaxed: However, on the inside, I feel rage and pain. How could this have happened? How could they do this to me? I keep staring up at the ceiling hoping for an answer.

‘Because they were never your friends,’ whispers a voice inside my head, ‘they never loved you nor did they care about you. They only put up with you because you were the only one there.’

I keep staring at the ceiling as I think about what was just said.

“But if that’s true, then why did they wish me happy birthday every year? Or why did they hang out with me? Or check on me when it became just me and mom?” I ask, trying to find some way to prove the voice wrong.

‘Pity,’ it hisses back, ‘They had to make you think that they cared for you. Otherwise, you would’ve known that they didn’t care for you sooner.’

I begin to feel my eyes starting to fill with tears. What if it was true? What if it was all true?

‘You don’t need them,’ cooed the voice, ‘All you need is me. I can bring you warmth. I can bring you joy. Just listen to what I have to say. Just listen to me. Forget about them, boy. They never loved nor cared about you, so why should you care about them? They’re the reason you’re feeling down. The reason you hate yourself. It’s all their fault. Hate them. Hate them all.’ The voice continues, steadily increasing in volume until it’s all that I hear.

I wipe the tears from my eyes and clench my fists. I get out of bed and gaze at myself in the mirror. Instantly, I’m filled with anger and hate for what I see.

“Those “friends” never cared for me. They never loved me. I don’t need them. I never will. I’ll never need anyone, ever again.” I growl as my anger swells.

In a quick motion and an angry grunt, I break my mirror into pieces with my right hand.

The body’s a temple. That’s what I’ve always been told. It wasn’t meant to be some kind of phrase for control. It meant that you should respect everyone’s body because each body is special.

That’s why I faltered when undressing you for the first time. That’s why my hands shook, and I was so slow at removing those pieces of cloth covering your body. You wanted me to see you, all of you. You wanted to give me you, all of you. You allowed me to see what only a few should see. And you let me enter what fewer should enter.

I had hoped that you would be okay with my temple. It wasn’t great, hell it still ain’t what it should be, but it’s all that I’ve got. I had hoped that you would be okay with what I had and it seemed like you were. You didn’t say anything about what you saw, so I assumed that it didn’t matter to you.

I want you to know what that night meant to me. Because it wasn’t just some one night event. It was the beginning of a connection. I gave you a gift of mine that I could only give once. I wish that I could have received the same gift from you, but you had already given that to your first love. I’m not angry, no no no. I understand. I was doing exactly what you did then right now. What I was giving to you was a gift, meant to represent my love and trust for you. Cliché, but true. That’s what it means to me. That’s what it meant to me. So you must understand that it was not just a physical excitement, but also an emotional excitement too.

It’s back. That feeling. That Darkness. Calling me back to it. No longer begging me, but commanding me to return.

“You’re mine, boy.” It growls as its tendrils slither along the ground toward me, “you will always be mine.”

I turn to run, but I’m blocked. Blocked by people. Old friends, previous lovers, current family members, and future acquaintances.

“Why do you always run away from your problems?” Asks my therapist.

“Why don’t you accept responsibility?” Interrogates my father.

“This is your fault!” Screams my ex.

“Why did you hurt me?” Cries my girlfriend.

“What happened to us?” Questions my best friend.

“Leave me alone.” Growls my cousin.

“You don’t have to worry about me. No one does.” Grumbles an old friend.

“I HATE YOU!” They all scream together.

I stumble backwards into the waiting tendrils of the darkness. I do nothing as they wrap around me, engulfing my body in an inky, black liquid.

“All they’ve ever done is hurt you,” whispers the Darkness. “They all hate you. Always have, always will.”

A tear slides down my face as I’m pulled further back into the inky black liquid of the Darkness.

“But...but I did my best.” I manage to get out before I’m completely submerged. As I sink further down into this evil, I hear one more voice, my own, speaking the three words I hoped to never hear.

I can feel myself being pulled back into that black abyss again. The abyss that I have strived so hard to stay away from for so long, and I was doing so well. It had been a long time since I had last been pulled in, and yet here I am again: Slowly being dragged back in.

The inky black, oily tentacles of the abyss slither out and onto my body: Tightening around my legs and arms so I can’t get away. Each tentacle is different than the last: Self-doubt, fear, anger, hate, loneliness. I can feel the strength of these tendrils pulling me back. I don’t think I can fight back for much longer.

From the tendrils, another inky black oily substance slides out, completely engulfing parts of my body as the mass continues to spread bringing with it terrible feelings of despair and sadness.

I kinda want to start fresh. Like, move to a completely foreign location and start my life over, ya know? I don’t know, but I just seem to be screwing my life up right now. Half of my friends from high school haven’t spoken to me since graduation, half of my friends that I did speak to after graduation hate me or think I’m an asshole, and I’ve changed my major like 3 times and I’ve only completely a year and a half of college. My daily routine is so boring and I’m just tired of it all, ya know? Like I want to move to another country, change my name, change my backstory, meet new people, be a mystery.