Snapping Cords.

It’s still a battle.

No matter where we live, how we are, it’s a battle.

Our personalities have clashed. The only reason why I don’t believe we have ripped each other’s throats out is by sheer luck.

I certainly would have by now. My personality’s so abrasive and violent in nature. I don’t know what holding me back.

All I know is that there are several things holding me back. Several small strings.

Every once and a while, a cord snaps under pressure. Rarely are the cords simply just cut as if by knife, razor, or scissor. Rarely, but it happens. More often than not, it’s as if someone were to take a nail file and rub it harshly against a cord. The cord doesn’t snap, but it becomes more fragile each second while the weight of my body continues to pull upon it. Sometimes the pressure is too great and one will snap. I cry for a little while. Only a few cords are really secure. 

The cord for my dad is strong, only because it is a metal cable. A rather thick one. But even that cord has seen many hard days and has rusted, broken, and snapped in some places. The main heart of the cable is still intact, but for how long I’m not sure.

My emotions- mainly fear- are the ones that keep me alive the most. I live out of fear if I were to break all of the cords at once, how would the people around me react. I live out of fear of breaking my dad’s heart. I live out of fear of people ridiculing my decision. 

Suicide is beautiful.

It is also a disgusting demon that will plunge my soul into hell. 

People really don’t believe me when I say I am what I am.

When I say I have what I have.

When I tell them I have these thoughts.

I don’t even believe myself anymore. 

Then why do I sit here, crying, unable to keep this flood from drowning me?

Most of my panic attacks happen the same way. Silent crying mostly. I lay on my back sometimes and contract my stomach and curl into a ball until the pain subsides. Other times, I begin my ritual and pick up the blade, then rock myself until the crying stops and the bleeding is mostly controlled. Sometimes I sit on the floor crying uncontrollably. 

Some people tell me to grow out of it. Be an adult and welcome to the adult world.

They have no idea how much I wish I could. It’s just too daunting for me. I wish I didn’t have these demons haunting me every where I go.

I can’t even go to my big lectures anymore without feeling horribly uncomfortable. 

I’m not meant for this world.

I’m not meant for this life.

I’m so disgusted with myself. 

I can’t.

I just can’t.

Why can’t I?

It’s horrible. 

My head hurts too much. 

Too many voices. Even my family rejects me. How can I live with myself?

How?

I…

I don’t think I can do this anymore.

 

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