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[oliv3branches4arms-blog]

Guilt, anger, and all the things I felt.

Sometimes- most of the time, when I think about myself, my mind goes blank. It’s strange,  there are still thoughts and feelings there, but I can’t ever seem to focus on what I’m trying to think about. Memories and images of myself are clouded by intrusive, repulsive thoughts I’ve been plagued with for as long as I can remember. To be honest, it has fucked with my perception more than I would like to admit. 

My family and I were talking about previous family vacations and I was trying to remember a specific part of the trip I was very fond of. Searching for the details, my brain slipped in a few grotesque and disturbing thoughts that did not belong there. Maybe they do? Maybe they do belong there, I could not seem to remember. I do remember though, that tremendous amount of guilt, and the unfamiliar weight on my abdomen. I sat on the couch in the living room silent, doubting every memory and thought that swirled around in my head, with a stomach full of metal. 

I began doubting almost everything. If my brain cannot be trusted how will I know what to feel? How will I trust myself to make decisions? I had convinced myself there was no way I could be a good person. The guilt. That slimy, disgusting feeling that covered me, inside and out. It kept growing, like mold in a dark, wet place- festering. No matter how hard I scrubbed, no matter what I did, it remained. 

Standing in the shower, I held a rag in my left hand. I can’t remember how long I had been standing there, but It was long enough that the water had run cold. I felt my stomach gurgle, I had just eaten. The freezing water now starts to tint my skin a very faint shade of blue. The slick, grimy, dirty feeling was all I could think about. I took the tattered rag to my skin, slowly but firmly, attempting to wash it all away. It wasn’t working. I began to scrub harder, gripping the rag tighter than before, my movements now rushed and chaotic. 

The scrubbing went on for a while, I don’t remember stopping. I remember the water, the heat in my face. I remember dropping the rag in my hand, knuckles white and splotchy. I remember the sound it made when it hit the floor. I remember the feeling of my skin, lightly dragging my torn fingers across the angry flesh. I remember the odd sense of relief mixed in with the millions of emotions I couldn’t identify. I remember how it felt when that grimy feeling was finally silenced by the searing pain of freezing water against the cruel skin that tormented me. Raw and red, I remember that pain, I remember how it burned. 

[oliv3branches4arms-blog]

though I am too weary to live, and I do not wish to do so, it is decided. Not by me or anything that is known, I exist.

a very tired teenage girl, much too tired for her age, on tumblr at ungodly hours