bitethehandthatfeeds - Tumblr blog

[bitethehandthatfeeds]

Everything is too much. I wish i could stop you for a few minutes, make you sit down with me on the shitty-itchy-scratchy sofa in my grandmothers house and grab your face in my hands and say “you’re not half as cool as you think you are.” i don’t hate you. I love you, in fact. Or maybe i don’t. I’ll be honest i don’t really know who i’m even talking to right now. It might be that i am talking to myself. I wish i wasn’t so fucking ugly. I see only the bad parts of myself, and i can’t stop looking. It’s like catching sight of a crime scene, you’re kinda unable to look away. Your personality is a fucking crime scene. Everything you do has an air of arrogance. It might not even be your own fault, It’s likely just the way i perceive you, but whatever it is makes me want to punch you square in the face and then kiss away the blood dripping from your broken nose. I’ve only thrown a couple of good punches in my life. I wonder who the people they were directed at are now. I’m sure they’re the same. There’s no use in changing, not when We’re all just hurtling towards the same extinction, trapped in fleshy bags of meat and organs, screaming at ourselves and each other because we feel too much, feel too deeply, or not at all. I think i have some serious anger issues. Wouldnt that be fucking hilarious. I’m supposed to be this bright fucking thing. I’m supposed to be something great, right? Someone who makes a difference in this world. Even if i did, i’d still be a miniature blip on the timeline of history, even fucking history is ridiculous and arbitrary, because why the fuck would you pay attention to the past, who even has time to, when you scream and kick and throw yourself into everything you do right now. Why would it even matter. I am supposed to be something wonderful, someone great, and i am totally content to be wholly mediocre. All my dreams are of things that can’t ever come true because i wasn’t born into it, the stars weren’t fucking aligned or whatever, when i came hurtling out of my mother’s uterus, practically dead and covered in blood and fluids, so ugly and shriveled that I’m pretty sure even the Angels were screaming “Oh God, put it back!” My life in the future will be the same as it is now: I will get up each morning, i will do whatever fucking job i have, and i will go home and smoke a pack of cigarettes and call it dinner, and at night i will stare at the wall and think about hanging myself, because the meds don’t work, the meds never fucking work even though the doctors say they should. It’s fine, Dearest Prozac, Lovely Ritalin, you guys are doing your best. I understand, i promise i do. my insides are so rotten and ugly that I wouldn't want to help me either. I have all these ideas, all these thoughts in my head. I have all these feelings, and i want ways to express them that don’t feel like regurgitated emo bullshit from 2006 myspace. Maybe when you’re really hot, you can get away with that kind of shit. If you’re pretty, you can get away with fucking anything. Sometimes i wonder if other people see me the way that i see me. I hope not. That wouldn’t be very fun for them. I hope that people just see through me, and to the wall behind me. I hope i am invisible and no ones cares, and no one pretends to care when i’m found dead in a ditch somewhere. That’s one of the biggest things keeping me from doing it. If i die, i know people are going to say “aw yeah i knew her. She sat in my english class, she was a great, lovely person” and they’d be lying, twice, because first they said they knew me and then they said i was a great person, and how the fuck would they know? I could have murdered puppies in my free time, and they’d have no idea, because their heads were so far up their own asses that they never saw the light of day. Maybe we’re all too hopeful, as people. We see people and our first reaction is usually “aha, yes. Another person. They are not an axe murderer” but fucking, what if they are? Here we are, sat on a bus next to a person, and we do not immediately think “ah, yes, this person has beaten and raped multiple children” because we fucking hope that they haven’t. And maybe it’s better that way. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe i should start assuming the absolute fucking worst of everyone, and then my expectations of people will be so low that i’ll be pleasantly surprised when they don’t come at me wielding a machete. Maybe i’m just fucking rambling, because weed makes me think i’m smart.

[bitethehandthatfeeds]

I'm really tired. Like really really fucking tired, of existing and doing things, and i realised recently that i have always been this way. As far back as I can remember into my childhood, barring the really fucked up and traumatic parts of it, I have always been ill. I have always been so empty as a person, you know? so i try to fill the giant black fucking void inside me where emotion would be with bullshit and random things. After my father left. It was just. My mom was so fucking angry all the time so i just kind of sat in my room and stared at the wall. I had to keep the same mattress that i had since i was 5 years old until i was 10 and i cried every time i had to change the sheets because there were these huge patches of bloodstains all over it, and my mom claimed it hurt her inside, too much to deal with so she made me fucking do it. And i didn't even fucking remember what the blood was from, but i knew it made me sob so hard i couldnt stand up, every. single. time. And so at first it started out as drawing things and reading comics and throwing myself really hard into being a ballerina and then i got older and things just got so much fucking worse and i started thinking really fucked up shit that kids, or anyone really, should never think, because like, honestly what the actual fuck is wrong with me? and then i got older and i started to fill the void with drugs and drinking and sex with people 10 years older than me and it made me sick to my stomach, but then i met this guy, right? this guy and he's great and the kindest person i have ever met and he is so gentle with me all the time and when i come over to his house he literally just lets me sleep in his bed because its warm and safe and smells like his cologne and then i got older and my skin didn't fit right and any time someone reached for me i flinched and i couldn't even breathe at night because i was alone, in my room, and i couldn't sleep and i never fucking slept, and my mom hated me and i hated her more and things started getting bad again and i got the shit beat out of me at school because i was a weird faggot and then i went home and got the shit beat out of me because i was a weird faggot and i hated everything and so i almost drank myself into a fucking coma and my mom found me in a ditch and I had my stomach pumped and then i came home and got the shit beat out of me again. And then I got older, right? And I am blindly fucking in love with another stupid guy and he's scared because he's transgender and he saw the things that happened to me and he and i would quite literally kill for eachother, we're that blindly fucking in love. And then i go to therapy and the therapist tells me i have trauma and asks me to talk about my childhood and then the pieces click together and i realise that my body is not my own, was never my own, my father ruined me and i want to claw my own insides out. So i start prescription pills and drinking, but they're together this time, woo-hoo! Brothers in arms, partners in crime, fucking up my insides, one day at a time. I'm sick all the time now and i get the shit beat out of me at least every three days because my mom is fucked up in the head too And i don't even realise it but i have stopped talking to the person i love so much i would kill for, and then he's calling me one day when i'm in the bathtub at home about to see if i can cut into an artery this time, you know, and maybe not be such a disappointment even in death, and he's telling me that he's breaking up with me and that he loves me but i've hurt him, and instead of cutting into my arm i sit in the bathtub and stare at the wall until the water is cold and my eyes glaze over. And I pick myself up off the tile and I drink an entire bottle of jack daniels and sob-vomit-scream until my guts are raw and I'm bleeding on the inside. And then suddenly I'm 16 and i have my whole fucking life in front of me, but i don't want it, i don't deserve it, and i am such a fucking loser. And i am so fucking selfish, and self centered and terrible and I'm hacking myself up again and drinking like an alkie and smoking like a fucking chimney and i hate everyone else but i hate myself more, and everything feels so bleak and fucking hopeless all the time. I sit, and I rot. I draw people being flayed, people being stabbed and people being crucified because I feel like I'm the one who deserves it. And I keep a list of the people who would actually care if I killed myself and it’s tragically short and I read comics still because i am so so lonely and I watch shitty 80's horror films and most of my relationships with people go like this: "Hi, wow, we’re both pretty pathetic. We should talk about that. Get to know each other? Maybe I'll tell you who i am on the inside if you make me feel ok for a little while. Where did you grow up? This same small town? No fucking way, me too! I’m just like you. Do you want to go makeout in my car? Great! Can I have your phone number? Maybe we can stay up late and talk about things in our life that are little more than frivolous details, because we're both too afraid to be sincere. yeah, I have a lot of scars. I wish I cared enough to tell you about them! Here, I wrote a poem about you, it has 40 lines and none of them make sense, and later when I read it I'll scream into the pillow stained with my own blood. Here, Have my entire heart, it's yours to keep, free of fucking charge. Do you want to hold hands? No? Do you still want to be friends? or maybe you'll date someone else while I cry at night. That sounds good. Maybe I should stare into the mirror until I can't recognise myself anymore, and maybe I should bleed out on the floor. Maybe i should stop doing so much fucking cocaine. Haha, Do you feel that? That buzzing? No? It’s incessant. Still don't feel it? Maybe there’s too much going on right now. Here, we can leave. we can go somewhere quiet. maybe our graves. Now do you feel it? Still no? You're sure? Positive? Great. Me neither. I’m just like you."  And i know killing myself is wrong and dumb and selfish and yeah i'm gonna feel better one day, but for now i am so weary, and so fucking tired that all i want to do it lay in the soft dirt and let the world keep spinning, without me, because it's so much easier, and i am a terrible, horrible selfish person.