Healing vibes.

Share a story that has hurt you.

Something that ripped you to tiny piece and made it as though you didn’t not think you would survive.

Share that story, leave out no details, because I have a feeling this will help you heal.

Realize how much you have conqured.

The painful memories you can’t bear to hold.

Just let them go.

Share me a story if your deepest fear. Tell it all and leave out no details.

We need to see we are not alone.

K – Kindess

I guess I have overcome a lot in my life. At times this is not really easy to see. I surrounded myself with self defeating imagery in the hopes that it will help me see reason. But it never works.

I know that others have it worse.

I know that I am in a better place.

I know it.

I see it

But that doesn’t always help.

I am so used to it and do not know how to change it. If I am being honest here, I think I need it. I have spent so many years of my life hating myself and others around me that it is pretty much the only way I can tell that I alive.

I think I made a comment about how I am not good with “positive” stories. I do not do love. Or happiness. Or joy. Not unless someone is suffering in someway. I fully admit that this makes me an edge queen and quiet possibly makes me seem a bit immature.

But…this is my therapy. This is how I heal.

I may surround myself with negativity but it is the only way I can used to things.

Send it below or Fucking use it

I remember the day I told my friend that I would use this very qoute from her book. I was maybe 16 and have since lived by it.

My past defines me because it gives me the ability to create this things. I use it. So with my pain, and lonliness, and heartache, and stress, what am I?

So yea…I do not think I would have a purpose without it. I may never ever really get better and I am ok with that.

It is a kindess to believe otherwise and I just do not have the space for that.

Still I respect it all the same.

Con troll me (Control)

I am struggling.

For reasons I can not control I find myself thinking of you.

And no matter how much I fight it I find that I do not have the ability to stop.

You.

Who used to feed me tasteless lies upon a platter

You.

Who used to bruise my body and scream “What’s the matter”???

As if my bleeding lips And busted up tongue

Could convey sweet words when I had none.

I should have seen it from the swastika on your chest.

You

Who hold yourself above the rest as if You

Yes you

Are a God among men

But I am lacking in faith and reasons

Once I begin to feel again I begin

To miss

You.

Who tore my dress because you said it was ugly

You.

Who blamed me for every cigarette burn and broken knobs on doors

You.

Who always swore it was my fault as you ripped my body apart.

You ripped my ravaged body apart…

And for reasons I can not control I find myself

Almost

Missing you

Yes

You

Who on our wedding day who made my legs a pretty shade of purple and blue.

You

Who called my job and told them I lied about the money that went missing that one night

Despite

Fucking despite

The fact that I was not even there

But you

Do you care?

As I struggle to find air around listless tress

Doctors and officers telling me that all will be ok

But it isn’t

It never will

Because you broke me

And made me feel a love so twisted and vicious that I become so fucking addicted

God am I so addicted

But it doesn’t matter anymore

Because I am now crawling in the floor begging for someone

Anyone

Knowing full well that it is you that I want

AND I FUCKING HATE IT!

I HATE me

But this lack of control gives me something to believe in

Because as I sit thinking of you

Yes you

Who nearly succeded in making me your wonton whore

I scream a little

While wishing for more.

Soo this is a rough draft. I do not like it at all but I forgot today was C so yea. Will post it anyways.

I was told

I was told a story about something painful. As if death is anything but.

There are times when hearing about a person dying does nothing for me. I have watched gory videos and laughed over creepypasta post while drinking my herbal tea. I have sliced my wrist and burned sins into my skin in hopes that it would all go away. Honestly, death is nothing but a friend.

Yet, there are times when I find myself crying over it. I do not understand how my greater craving can be my nightmare. Death astounds me with its grace and yet, here I am suffering.

A loved one has passed away and I do not know what to do. I do not know how to feel….

I am just numb to it all.

But everything I write suggest otherwise. I cant concentrate on school cause I begin to think about him. I begin to miss a man I haven’t seen in years. A man broken by a war I wasn’t alive to witness. So much so little kids had to stay silent in his presence. I miss him and I do not know why. He was the kindest man but I can’t remember a damn thing he did. I barely remember his voice and yet I miss him.

I regret the fact that no one trusted me enough to love him.

Because I can’t say I love a person I wasn’t given a chance to know. I hate myself for never reaching out. But how could I when every sound I made took him right back to the battle field.

I miss him all the same.

A friend like me

A/N for some odd reason this posted as a blank page. So lets see if we can try this again.

I wanted to hurt you
So I wouldn’t be alone
Wanted to make you hate
So I wouldn’t do it on my own
I ignored all the signs
That said you where near your end
In my rush to find a like minded friend
I destroyed what made you good
I just wanted someone beside me
Who would suffer as I did
I didn’t see it as a problem
I felt that, overtime, our pain would solve them
I didn’t see you gasp for help
Was to busy cutting you like everyone else
As you lay bleeding in my image
I felt that we could win this
What a terrible friend was I
To live you alone to die
I just wanter you to suffer
Wanted you like no other
But I never wanted to be alone

A letter

Dear Father,

I never really liked my name. As a kid I hated how it meant that I was your child. I felt that the title didn’t explain all that I was in life. Jessica, child of Jesse, a common nobody that not even her father could bring himself to love. As a child I convinced myself that the best thing to do is hate before others had the chance to hate me. I remember the few times of happiness I felt I would instantly try and force it down. I didn’t deserve happiness.

When I was 10 I decided I would give myself 10 more years of life before I killed myself. I decided this after you had yelled at me for one reason or another. I remember holding a mini funeral for myself…my little self.

I killed the part of me that made me Jessica.

Jessica was unloved and unwanted. I thought this would make life easier.

But then came the voices…and the shadows.

I hated being in small spaces. I was fine with animals lurking about but small places like bathroom and closets gave me nightmares. I could feel people staring at me. I could hear people whispering. They wanted to hurt me. They convinced me that you wanted to do the same. I couldn’t trust anyone.

Killing myself did not go as planned but it was to late to go back now.

After while the shadow became that of a little girl. Jessica had came seekimg her revenge. It got to the point where being alone was the only way to keep her at bay. I hating sleeping because she was always there. I had nightmares all the time. I would wake up crying and had to sneak into my sister bed just so I could sleep. She wasnt a huge fan of that so I would often sleep under her bed. People didn’t crawl on me or grab me when I was under her bed. During storms I would sleep under the window. It probably wasn’t the safest places but no one hurt me when it rained but they screamed, oh god did they scream so loud.

When my sister was gone I just didn’t sleep. I begin to fear the dark so stayed up crying or writing or reading. Hurting myself whenever sleep got to close.

I spent my days sleeping or reading because she couldn’t reach me during the day time. She wouldn’t dare… The consequences of my fears made it so people hated me anyways. I couldn’t prove to others that the voices where there. No one else saw the shadows.

After awhile the whispers stopped. They didn’t go away completely but they did stop.

Father, I grew up believing you hated me. This was probably because I hated myself. Even now I do not understand how you can even talk to someome as damaged as me.

I look at my daughter and I pray to whatever god is listening that she doesn’t turn out like me.

As I have aged I no longer fear the dark. Small places comfort me, especially if there is a furbaby to keep me company.

I haven’t told anyone about the voices. No one important anyways. Over the years I have actually denied them being there. But they are here. No longer yelling or whispering but I can feel them judging me. I know what it means to see or hear things.

Dear Father

I really don’t know what to do anymore. I guess I could tell you that I am fucked up but you already know it.

At least, that is what she is telling me.

I stopped laughing

I am not exactly sure when laughter started to bother me. When I figured a group of people experincing joy made me so sad. All I know that as times change I begin to look at laughter as a bad thing. Their happy smiles meant something was wrong with me. Doesn’t matter that they had been doing it before I even showed up, it was always at my expense.

I begin to hate the sound of people having fun. I begin to see their whispers as reasons to stay indoors. When a friend told a joke it was always about me, even when it wasn’t.

I am not an attractive person. I am not smart, or brave, or funny, or cool. I am everything a person hate. I am someone the world could make fun on for one reason or another.

I can not stand when strangers laugh around me. I always feel as though they are judging me. I fight the urge to run and hide whenever someone close by lets out a giggle. A smirk turns my stomach and makes me die inside.

I do better when I am alone or with my child. She can still hurt me with her giggles but I know that they are not always at my expense. I can be myself with her and she won’t judge me…much.

I hate being myself around others. If I show them someone fake then they can’t really hate me. Sadly, I do not really know the real me. I have no idea who I am so after awhile that doesn’t work either.

I guess it is because I hate myself so much I don’t want to get to know myself.

So I put in different personalities like clothing. There are so many layers that I don’t dare go looking for the core. I think it is because I am afraid of what I will find.

I despise when people laugh at me…or near me. I know it is because I have fucked up in some way.