Doomed to be Dead

Chapter 9-Relapse

I have been staying away from everyone lately. Trying all the different ways to connect with this thing. This anti ghost. It has tried to kill me at least once a day but always ends up saving me in the end. Why would it do that, make death stair me in the eyes just to pull me away again. I hate this wrath. Currently I was just playing with my Ouija board, not for any reason in particular, just out of boredom. I had only been in my room a week and I had worn out the Ouiji bored a little bit. I had cuts in shapes all over my arms and hands some of which haven't even stopped bleeding yet. None of the rituals that they went to had worked. I had nearly burnt out and melted every candle in the room I had burns around some of the wounds. Nothing was working I was about to give up and just rot in here. I've got no other rituals to do, there are no other ways of speaking to it. I'm completely hopeless. I'm not going to live here with the fear of this thing trying to kill me. The worst part is that it's like its attached to me. It follows me everywhere like a lost hell hound. Every fucking day is a mirror of the one before. I haven't spoken a word to anyone in weeks. Nothing other than pain has passed through my lips since I've started to actually think. They don't see it because their all too blind to the reality of death. They couldn't see the truth past their own nose. They don't know anything about me! They could never understand my thoughts. They would write everything thats going through my head off as some sort of Madness. That's what they always do. They write anyone that thinks something that not many people would dare to consider so they write it off as some sort of madness! I can assure you that I am perfectly sane. My thoughts aren't madness. They aren't insane. They aren't delusional. They are the thoughts any desperate human would come across in my situation. Sometimes though my thoughts are just silent I can hear conversations between my Uncle and his boyfriend. They talk about my door sometimes how walking past it gives them the creeps. They speak of how I'm psychotic yet they don't even know me. Sure they know my name. They may know my face and every face I paint on before I walk out of my room in the morning. They know the personality I've shaped from knowledge and experience. They know the person I pretend to be every single Goddamned day of my fucking life. It gets boring doing everything in my life for someone else.SOMEONE I CANT EVEN SEE! Spending my life trying to make other people happy because I know I can never do it for myself. The world gave up on me so much before my breaking point. I'm not sure which came first, the happiness or the relapse. I can't seem to remember when one stopped and the other started. I've become a joke my life, a joke. Im nothing more than a creepy face to avoid, go ahead avoid me. You'll probably be better off anyway.. I need to stop thinking I need to stop. I'll never stop. It'll always be the same. It'll never get any better. STOP. I repeat loudly in my head it echos against the darkness that has become my sight, and my life. Silence and darkness are better than my burning screaming thoughts and it always will be. I am slowly realizing the hell that is my mind, and the waistband it has become. I can't fix it, because you see, nothing is broken, just in more complicated placement and I don't have the will power to change that.