Mental Masturbation

Cereal & A Cookie

That was fucking dreadful. I am fucking dreadful. I just didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do. I can't stop being such a fucking destructive whirlwind. It's a bit of a blur; it just came up so fast. I just couldn't stop. I don't even know if I wanted to stop.
I felt such a perverse frustration and a complete hatred for myself;
it was a perfect storm. "I don't want this body. I don't want this life." I was screaming it in my head and then I physically was. I kept repeating it over, screaming it into a pillow. "I want to be somewhere else. I never wanted to be born." I felt complete chaos in my body and my mind. I felt an unbearable urge to hurt myself, thinking that somehow it would make everything alright. I started to chew my left wrist. I pulled my hair, kept smacking my head with open hands, making these deep, guttural animal like noises that almost formed words. I know what I wanted to say, but it just wasn't coming out in any human language. I gnawed at myself and clawed at my skin while begging for an escape from this fruitless form.
In that moment I felt even more caged in than I've felt in the last year and a half. Tensions broke and disgust pooled out of me in the form of vicious self-harm. I began to hit myself, punch myself in the thighs, hips, stomach and chest. I wasn't just releasing the valve, I was punishing myself. Giving myself what I deserve. With each collision of my fist into pudge or bone, I felt like a piece of me was being freed. I felt the tension that had been pent up in my muscles loosening. My nails dug into my neck, nicking the skin like my razor does on rushed mornings. Ghosts of screams crawled up my throat and violently collided with the heat of the late summer night air. The temperature in the room crept up to staggering levels. I was sweating through my skin. I was like a man possessed.

Then it stopped. 30 violent minutes of abuse, acting like a rabid animal and I was exhausted. I laid into the softness of my pillows and the comfort of my Chubbs doll and was gone. I awoke from this with tense muscle and a sore throat. I saw my own teeth marks embedded in my wrist and pinkish scratch marks in the few areas that aren't tattooed. I saw the purple marks that had bloomed under my flesh during the night. I couldn't have been more disgusted with what I saw.

If I could, I would change everything. I say that now, but I know that sometime later I'll be singing a different song, clinging to the darkness that helps propel me, allowing me to make connections I otherwise would never see. There's always a tradeoff isn't there? Madness for insight? Insanity for the most colourful experiences? Will I forever be doomed to live in the shadows of my passions and dreams? Will I ever be able to regain the focus and control for longer than a few hours at a time to complete my work?

I know that I can't be the only one who feels this way, but it feels like I am. Has anyone else ever had an episode or episodes like this? I've pulled my last rabbit out of my hat and now I'm grasping at air trying to handle these turbulent outbursts.

And I've got med check on Wednesday, just bloody grand.
*I know I used Ren from Ren and Stimpy, but it's really not a joke or a laughing matter. It just felt like I was having a nervous breakdown.