Chains, these chains. I really am strangling myself with them. I go one way one second, then suddenly I bolt the other, only to get choked regardless. I want to hang. Let me hang. I feel like I’m doing this so damn publicly, right out there where the world can see it, but they only gape or say the all the wrong things to me. I don’t expect them to step up and stop this. I don’t expect consolation. I was a stupid kid once (oh, wait, let’s not get ahead of ourselves), and yeah, at one point I thought that it was possible to accept an offered hand and maybe move onto where this would be emotionally bearable.
I know now that I was wrong. I didn’t need a friend, I needed an enemy. I needed someone to beat me into place, to tear out those pipe-dreams and give me a colder world to look at. It explains my fucked up relationship with myself, at least. All sides against the middle, all fucking propelling me toward doom. I’m waiting for impact. All those times where I sit here and tell myself it isn’t coming? Lies. Fucking lies. It’s coming. There’s no avoiding it. Sooner or later it’s going to come down to the end. It will be me against myself against the world, if you want to romantisize it. We’re going to brawl, and we’re going to look each other in the face, all bloodied and destroyed, and we’re either going to come to an agreement to suffer and pull this pointlessness along until breaking point together, or we’re going to decide to take the other path. The brighter one.
Oh, and how it is brighter. Like a beacon in this black that I’m crawling to, hands and knees scabbed over, all subservience. Torture me until it makes sense or until I get so jaded by it that I can’t feel it anymore. I am weak and petty and I want to lose myself in this. I want compulsion and confusion and pain and recklessness beyond anyone’s understanding. I want my pursuit of stupidity to blow up in my face and prove something to me, be it reasons for an end or reasons for continuation.
I know that maybe it hasn’t been long enough. Maybe I haven’t hurt enough. Maybe there’s a lot more to come before I’m worthy of being granted an exit. Or maybe I’ll tear the gatekeeper’s throat out and go early. I never was one for waiting for permission. Worthy, there’s an idea. As if I owe this world anything beyond what has already been given so unwillingly….
I bled for you. I bled for this place even when I didn’t believe in it. I beat myself for you. I took pain for you. All those people, I died a hundred times over for, and they never even knew. And it was all my fault. I act like I was valiant, like I did something. Oh, but how that was not the case! I did nothing but stand by stupidly, a monument to inaction! Brave? No, I was the coward. I was terrified of being alone. I took it all on for myself, to prolong the fantasy as long as was possible. I did not really bleed for them…no.
I bled for me.
Selfishness. It’s a start, at least, is it not? How’s that for optimism?