March 9th 2014
There's this thing.
I think everyone has one.
It's this inner urge that just...consumes.
Some people control it rather well. It listens when they want it to and they let loose every once and a while. Things don't trigger them. Things are in c o n t r o l.
Then there's the others.
It becomes insatiable for them. It becomes a being within themselves; almost in some way nursed within their very own psychotic womb, regardless of gender.
They can struggle, kick and scream and isolate themselves from the world, but they can't escape it. It's not a matter of abortion, as it becomes one with you.
It attaches itself to every area of your life, feeding on your weaknesses. It makes you say things and mean others and there's a constant sense of "fake" and disbelief that people really are so simple.
A constant disbelief that maybe they're so simple because you've become so utterly complex.
There becomes a line when this thing becomes warped. You can't even tell what it is anymore. Is it an emotion? Need? Reaction? Consequence? You're not sure anymore, but you definitely know it's invaded you mind and soul to the point it's hard to breathe without thinking of it anymore.
You just...need. Crave, Desire.
What, though?
Something to get your mind off of your warped thought process becomes almost mandatory. Without something, -anything-, it gets to the point where your sluggish mind almost forces you into a comatose state. As much as you realize that maybe staying inside in one spot might be the best for you -and- society, you know that you're human and human beings can only be selfish at the core of it all.
I'll confess.
People have called me impulsive, rash, thoughtless and eager to please. I've been told I have no common sense and therefore give people the impression I have no respect for myself.
"I'm sorry." "You're right." "Yeah, that definitely won't happen again." "Yeah, what was I -thinking-? Hahaha, obviously I wasn't."
I guess the conclusion that I constantly get myself into dangerous situations is lost on them. Or maybe they just don't understand. They don't have that "need" inside them for chaos. For agony and pain. They don't have that apathetic mindset that is almost entirely logical.
I guess something inside of me has always considered my life too good for me. I constantly seek things out to give myself reasons for such mental anguish.
The only thing different between me from when I was a teenager to now is that I've learned to hide it behind a mask that's impenetrable by all. No one knows how deep my problems run.
No one knows this... thing.
So every time I swallow a pill to forget or to fade away, or every time I take another drink for the same reason. I don't expect them to understand. Because they can't.
I've always known I thought a little differently.
They've always thought I think the same.
Why lead them to believe differently now?











