A Little Insight

Emotional Outlet

Over the course of this last academic year, I have run into a problem. It might no seem like a problem, but I can’t cry. No matter how miserable I am and how much I want to, I just physically can’t.

This might week like a positive, not being able to cry but its far from good. I no longer have any sort of physical emotional outlet. Along with the lacking mental outlet, I have no way to get any of this torment out of my system. I can feel it building, getting worse and worse, ready to rupture…

This building as a resulting my inability to outlet is something that only increases my worry. Beforehand, I already felt on tipping point, and now I feeling the weighing me over to either a full-blown meltdown or worse, a public explosion of emotion.

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before, but as the 4 and a half years that have passed, I have felt increasingly emotionally desensitisation, with the last 6 months I have felt practically emotionally dead. Nothing seems quite as real. Nothing moves me the way things use to.

Am I safe to assume that my inability to cry is an extension of this? That there is so little left of my functioning emotional capacity that even the overwhelming sensations can’t provoke a physical response?

Is my body so use to feeling like this, that it is now the norm and only full blown tragedy can cause me to feel like a living, breathing, human?

My mind is awash with racing thoughts of untold despair. This enveloping feeling crushes me. I feel like I’m being ripped asunder from the inside, every single part of me fighting against the rest. At any moment, I’m going to be torn to shreds by myself. My mental force is the only thing that stops my entire body collapsing in on itself, though while fighting this implosion, I feel like a powder keg next to a bonfire. My mental force is on the verge of a cataclysmic explosion of rage and hatred of unparalleled brutality and fury.

I am alone. Isolated in my misery. I have no one on a similar plane as me. No one to relate to me or to relate too.

For as far as I can feel, this is not a life worth living, with nothing to offer me.

I have nothing.

I am nothing.

At my most atrocious

I can’t even quantify the emotions tearing me apart, the images running through my mind, the feelings choking me. I wouldn’t mind not waking up tomorrow….

Work, images and despair

My time between posts has once again been way too long. The last couple of months  have been hectically busy, days worth of time spent in the darkroom, printing again and again. It’s drove me insane. As is said, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. The deadline for all the work was Tuesday just gone and I made it, just. 

In all the time since the start of September, I’ve hardly had chance to think due to one thing after another being thrown at me to deal with. As a result, I’ve hardly had time to think and dwell on everything that’s happened. The whole thing has worn me down so much. I was hoping I would be somewhat revitalised by the Christmas break, being home, away from all the work. But anything but that happened. Several things broke or went missing of notable expense, there was work to be done, multiple cancellations by other people of plan, etc. All combined made it little of the relaxing time I’d of hoped of. I came back with imminent deadlines, feeling no less stressed and generally exhausted and anxious.

I managed to get the work done as I stated earlier, but at the cost of whatever it was that was keeping me afloat these last few months. I now fear that this term will now be a repeat of last year where I just undergo complete emotional collapse. I already feel completely isolated from anyone of understanding and horribly lonely.

But that’s not what consumes me the most. That’s the images. I’ve talked of them on here several times (I think), but one of them is getting more and more frequent. Perpetually, I see myself kill myself, specifically shoot myself clean through, side to side in the head, then I’ll do it again, and again yet I still persist. All that remains is an empty despair that I can’t even be allowed the peace in the relinquishment of life.  

I have no idea what to do about anything. In 6 months time, it will be 5 years I’ve been this way. By the end of the year, it will be over a quarter of my life. I cannot even begin to comprehend that amount of time, how much of it wasted away is misery and pain. The emotions I have felt, how much of me has been eroded, how many times I’ve come to within an inches of killing myself.  

Where does that leave me? Hopelessly forsaken in this tidal wave of sorrow…

How can I harbour such emotions? When the only thing offsetting the tremors are the weakening steps. I feel the entirety of my mental and physical capacity is on the last barricade of defense of muly sanity, as I try resist the urge to rip myself apart and tear myself asunder.

What reasoning have I got to do this? None.
What reasoning have I got to not? None.

Yet the emotions remain regardless of action, thought, drugs, people, events, words, anything. There is nothing but the endless cycle of carnage in my mind, permeating and tainting my life and all I do.

This pattern of corruption is something only I can stop.

A full stop.

Stay a while and listen….

It’d been quite some time since I’ve posted on here.. Too long since I vented at the vast nothingness of this corner of the internet…

I’ve been busy you see. Life has given me little time to sit down ans even consider writing something vaguely coherent (not to suggest that I ever am). At the very beginning of September, I broke up with my ‘long time’ (2 years) girlfriend, which was by far the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do personally, or to someone else….. It took everything in me to tell her, even though in the end I knew it was for the best.

I guess the most recent fuss though has been over getting uni sorted. It goes back to the summer, more specifically, mid August. After mulling over my options, I decided to contact you, and let them know. They basically told me the woman who deals with all that stuff was on holiday, and would contact me when she got back. 3 weeks later, after not hearing anything, I contact them again, and get no reply. I ring up, 3 times in total, first two times being told I’d be contacted the next day (which I wasn’t) and only finally got told I could come back, ans when I started, the day after I was suppose to have started…

As a result, I frantically looked for somewhere to live, utterly failing to find anywhere, and ended up spending 2 weeks living at my grandparents in south Wales, commuting to Bristol each day. I eventually found somewhere, which I currently reside, but it’s hideously expensive, with a very nice, but very irritating landlady, with her husband who’s (moat likely illegally) trying to squeeze more money out of me…. So once more, I’m already house hunting….

Uni itself is going fairly well considering everything and I think I’ve already managed to make closer friends than I managed to last year, not at the fault of the people on my course last year.

My mood and my thoughts are however, as rampant and destructive as ever… Through everything, I don’t know how I haven’t completely lost my mind and lost all rationality. My emotions, my feelings, both mental and physical have Bern somewhat strained as of late. While to a degree I’ve had less time to dwell on everything, I’ve felt considerable worse otherwise.

My heavily suppressed mostly unexplained anger has heavily fed my violent imagination. Visions of brutality of incomprehendable levels are increasingly frequently flooding my minds eye. Suppress it, or go with it, it changes nothing. They won’t leave me. But sometimes I don’t want them to. In a mix between anger, rage and malice, along with anxiety and a feeling of transcendence above all others accompanied by a sense of superiority, I feel as close to euphoric as I think I have ever felt. In the realm that ny mind creates, I wield the power. I am the almighty and I can reform it all as I see fit. But for now at least, I can keep bthat in check. I can distinguish between the realms of my imagination and this reality, at least to some degree.

I think this is where I end my long/brief update, somewhere between the diary of a schizophrenia or some sort of esoteric ramblings… I hope you’re enlightened. I certainly am not.

Tears on the kitchen floor

There are tears on the kitchen floor
Stains from the past, from the present
Memories of pain in the encompassing darkness

Horrors once wept meet misery weeping
Emotions exacerbated in the lurid room
But one ray of light illuminates

No signs of hope in this dim beam
Just a sense of a higher being
Teasing, toying, torturing

Tears steaming, pleas splutter out
Pleas of forgiveness, pleas of peace
But no mercy shall be granted this day

Years past, but the pain remains
But no time will ever halt
These tears on the kitchen floor

Building Pressure

My blood is boiling and i just want to burn this house down to the ground. I need an outlet for this anger, but have none. It’s building, building, every higher, worse than I’ve ever seen. Recent events have made things worse, but it’s like there is something more, beyond which I can can see and analyse; Hidden and brooding. 

If I don’t find an outlet soon, i’m going to explode.  

Lost in Infernal Nightmares

Of my many faults and problems, there is one area that I don’t talk about much, and usually when I do, I only brush on the subject.

At lot of the time I’m caught in daydreams, of a intensely violent nature, which is usually accompanied with an all encompassing rage at everything and everyone. 

This happens a lot of the time, a couple of times of day for the latter, and almost constantly for the former. Along with other things, it makes it incredibly hard to concentrate on anything that involves thinking. Images force there way in, and scenes play out in my head, and I can’t stop them for all the trying as I do. Suppress them as I try, I get nowhere. 

The exact detail vary mostly, but mostly I find myself injuring other people, if not outright killing them. 

This on it’s own, while extremely distressing, on it’s own isn’t all too bad. However, coupled with the anger that comes with it usually, It makes me scared of myself. I’m already scared of what I might do to myself when I’m at my lowest, but I’m petrified of what I could do if I was to loose all pretense of sanity. Terrified what I might do with my own two hands if I was to ever loose control of my actions, and succumb to the misery and the malice with burns within. 

I don’t know why I feel this way. All I know is when I do, is that nothing matters to me anymore, no matter who or what it is. Possession, stranger, family or friend. The hysteria nulls my feeling even greater than my depression, to the point where the consequences of my actions feel absolutely null, and that all morality is no long relevant. 

All I can do is sit there and contain the feelings, or like thereof, while it churns at my insides, grinding me away mentally, scared one day I will snap, and live out the nightmares physically rather than just mentally.