**Trigger Warning – suicide, abuse, sexual stuff, self harm, intense shame**
– This was written a few days ago, I wasn’t going to post this at first… different parts of me are currently begging me not to, but at the same time I think I need freedom from it and maybe it can show others how swiftly emotions can go from 0-100 and back again. Probably don’t read it if you are triggered by dissociation or suicide. Maybe don’t read it anyway…
They’ve broken my computer. MY computer. It would be a small thing to most people but my computer isn’t just another materialistic possession to me, no, its my sacred vessel that transports me into another realm, the home of the internet and my secret second life, the only place where I am free to write, to blog, the place where I could authentically be each part of myself and feel accepted without causing pain, without repercussions. For years the only thing that has kept me alive has been the ability to pour my heart out and share my deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings with an anonymous community that have somehow become my friends. My best friends.
My thoughts spin out of control as I stare at the broken computer, I feel betrayed, grief stricken, my sanctuary and lifeline has been stolen from me. Blind rage wells up from a place deep within my soul, I yell, I curse, I blame, I hate and I regret. I regret having children, getting married, surviving my suicide attempt, I regret everything I have ever done. I want to jump up and down until my knees give way or I fall right through the old wooden floor beneath me. I need to get away.
I want to run but there’s nowhere to go, all that is in front of me are four bewildered kids watching their mother shatter into a million pieces right in front of them.
I can’t hold on anymore, I don’t know what to do. The voices in my head are rioting and the world is falling away from me. I need to release this anger that has taken me captive and scream until the window glass shatters into oblivion and I can slice open my wrists with the broken shards while I watch my crimson blood spill away into darkness, into freedom.
But I can’t. I am gagged and bound by an invisible source drawing the line I cannot cross so instead I lock myself in the bathroom, hyperventilating and wishing feverishly that I could just end it right here. I catch the reflection of a stranger in the mirror, a vile, angry woman on the verge of breaking, she’s so pitifully, disgustingly ugly. God I hate her so much.
I turn the shower on full bore, hot only until the room fills with enough steam to take that vile reflection away from sight before I can begin to realise just who it might actually belong to. I step into the scalding water, take a huge breath in and hold onto it, I want more air but there isn’t any room, I NEED to hold all of the air in all of the world inside me at once, I gape like a possessed goldfish in an effort to capture more and more air until my lungs nearly burst with the fullness, but still it isn’t enough.
My body is quivering with a combination of anxious overwhelm and oxygen deprivation, thoughts of dying circle dizzyingly inside my head as I search for an easy out, anything to get me away from this intensity. I momentarily consider shoving a shampoo bottle down my throat until I choke to death but instead I fall the shower floor sobbing.
Suddenly I find myself masturbating furiously, my head filled with anger and despair, anger at my disobedient children, my controlling husband, my hateful job, my mother, my mental illness, my slutty anorexic teenage self, the boys that abused me, my 3rd grade teacher, the nightmares, the memories, the people who hurt my innocent 6yr old self, my fucking 6yr old self for not having the strength to stand up and fight back! God how I hate her weakness in that moment! God how I want to punish her for it, punish myself for it! GOD I NEED TO BLEED, GOD I HATE MYSELF!!!
I cum violently, an intense angry orgasm, its harder than I’ve ever cum in my life. I collapse on the shower floor as the scalding water rushes over my heaving body and shame floods into my soul. Shame for climaxing from thoughts of pure hatred, memories of my abusers, memories of fear and bitter self-destructive desire. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to die for my sins, die for the sins of others. Die for not being able to protect myself. From the corner of my eye I spy my wayward razor lying behind the shampoo bottle.
I sit up but rather than pull that blade across my wrist, my body suddenly shivers in waves as I feel her take the control back of my body, she places the metaphorical mask back over my face and I feel myself instantly relax, all emotional memories from the past hour fade to black and she begins to gently shave my legs.
Left, up, down. Right, up, down.
After all we have work in an hour, the kids still need a good nutritious breakfast and someone needs to let the chickens out. Life doesn’t pause for breakdowns, neither can we.
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