If what went on in my head all the time truly came out like it wants to, I’d be in the hospital. I’d be in rehab. I’d have nothing. No one would want to help me because nothing would make sense.
“Why did you try to kill yourself?”
“He turned his phone off.”
I think the truth is that I do have the ability to calm down over time. Even after the stupid situations that I cannot comprehend. Even when I have a legitimate reason to be upset, and even when I don’t. Even when there’s a blade to my skin before I even remember picking it up.
But I don’t care to give myself the extra twenty minutes I probably need.
I’m upset now.
I want to hurt myself now.
I want to be angry now.
I want to yell at you now.
I want to break something now.
I want to hurt everyone’s feelings now.
I just don’t care.
Perhaps it’s a fear of inferiority. I don’t want to be wrong; I don’t want to look stupid; I don’t want to be ashamed. I’m pretty sure that’s what a therapist would tell me. But fuck therapy. It feels more like a need to stop bottling shit up. I don’t want to walk away. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t exist. I don’t want to calm down. I’m upset now, so I’m going to do something about it now, and I don’t care if I regret it later.
I know that’s fucked up. I know I need to change. My point is that I just don’t want to because, to put it simply, it’s hard.