Ever long tamed and controlled
Underneath the cordial
the enigmatic state within
Is clawing to the surface Showing through thin, precarious, pale skin
For which it’s purpose has given in
With its last pitiful cry
To the incinerating desperation
Of the fury suppressed inside
Breaking out from every angle
Patience and mercy
Run dry, scarce and feeble
And losing control
Fueled by Impulsion
Uncensored, Nonsensical Rant:
I’m just going to rant. Fuck making sense or specificity. I’m just going to stop faking it right now, and give credence to what I won’t let myself say anywhere else, to anyone, ever. I need somewhere to put this, because I’m completely at my wits end with “fake it until you make it”, when all this has become for me is a vain striving for the next fix of illusion that I can set up to fool myself that any facet of this shit really matters to me. Even then, it’s only for the length of time that I can hold my breath.
I’m sick of positivity right now.
I don’t want to hear any cliche encouragements, philosophical quotation, or holier-than-thou precepts about everything I’m doing wrong, or not doing, because I haven’t reached that level of don’t-give-a-shitness about my own pain and suffering yet.
Yes, I’m hung up on stupid things. Call me a coward, call me a small person. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks right now.
Yes, I’m aware of the requirements of
crucifying all falsely beckoning hopes and desires- Killing everything that belongs to me in a sense any less than completely unawareness of self and surrender in all affairs pertaining to my own carnal existence. So, I’m not yet so skilled in fucking asceticism.
Yes, I know I need to get over it and I that everyone has to learn, live, and breathe the serenity prayer in one sense or another, ultimately. I suck at it. And right now I’m just angry.
It just is.
Just because someone has to accept circumstances outside of their control- or that they live in chronic pain- DOESN’T make that pain go away.
It’s still fucking there.
And I’m not sorry right now that it makes me cry, or that I’m shrinking away from my duties and obligations today. And hell maybe tomorrow I will too.
But I’m always still left sitting there, biting my tongue- restraining the screaming foolishness within me,
Because it’s never helped anyone by sharing my burdensome thoughts.
For all they are,
are feelings subject to my futile, naive wants and insignificant comfort.
I’m aware I’m not obligated to those things, that life is life, and I try to accept and process whatever is the next piece to building a tower on a foundation of sand.
And as I swallow the tangibly inconsequential- the burning words in my head and my chest again- it only feeds the bitterness that I try to ignore just as well, because I’m facing it-
I’m trying to live above the issues because I don’t believe it’s possible to fix them.
There, it’s said.
But if I still hold my breath and go through the motions to “get over it”, but don’t believe- can it still work? Because that’s all I’ve been doing, and unfortunately all that’s done is fool everyone but me.
I’ve come to the place after so fucking much trying, yet losing ground with the more effort I put out- that maybe I don’t feel like building something else just so that I can say I did something. Because that something doesn’t mean anything to me.
Nothing means anything to me in these black times.
And it’s been black for so fucking long.
Yes, I own responsibility for my life but perhaps even spend too much time blaming myself. While I’m aware that blame is never helpful or constructive, pain seems to be the only fucking language I can speak or comprehend in these moments.
And furthermore, there arises a flash of anger- the one that makes me hide from people so I can’t hurt anyone else.
And it’s bubbling up again, boiling, and so dangerously fresh- which I will to abstain from taking out anywhere.
Maybe I’m just weak, a bad character, or more fucked up than people think.
I really don’t care.
I’m gonna be negative.
I’m just done in this moment.
Every level of this process gets hotter.
Every step done with good intent, sows a whole lot more bitterness and hopelessness.
All that’s changed is my pain threshold and acting skills.
And I really DO sit and consider everything people say to try and change my thinking and I dare to acknowledge the terrifying within myself.
I’m not sorry for not having the power yet to be able to shut off the gnawing pain that lives at the base of my skull. I AM sorry for not speaking up sooner. I don’t have my shit together enough for group A, but neither am I acceptably white flagged enough for group B. I grow increasingly convicted that I belong nowhere, and with no one. I feel like a failure in my dying faith. I feel like a black sheep among most groups of civilized people. I’m painfully aware of nonfunctionality of my social life and interactions with people I care about.
I simply don’t have the heart today to humor people in their motions, for either of our sakes. No, I’ve harbored enough hard truths for one day, and I’ve ended up beating myself enough for my failures.
This is what it is. Maybe I can still change it, maybe I can’t. Or maybe I just want to take the course of cowardice and die. I’m just done.