Tag Archive: pain



I always hated creating a scene. Everyone hates conflict. I’d rather do something subtly; sometimes just to see if the person cares enough to notice. Most of the time, they don’t. But that’s usually when it’s something good.
This time, however, I let people know what I really think. I rarely do that. It wasn’t good, let me tell you that. There’s been quite a bit of conflict with Freckles and his new girlfriend.
To begin with, the conflict was just between Freckles and I. I even retrieved his new phone number so that it could stay between the two of us and only the two of us. Of course, that was never going to happen. Eventually, she got involved – but that comes later.
Freckles, as per usual, accused me of “slagging [him] off” to my friends, behind his back. Honestly? I wouldn’t say a thing behind his back that I wouldn’t say to his repulsive face. He claimed one of my “friends” told him about me doing this (bullshit, much?) and then refused to tell me which friend. This was highly unfair. I had a right to know. But no, apparently he wanted to keep this person’s trust. Since when has he been bothered about trust?
The way I see it, this person is untrustworthy herself. For a start, she bullshitted lied about me; secondly, if I had said anything to her, it would have been in confidence (confidence that she’d keep it to herself) so technically, she abused my trust. I don’t keep friends I can’t trust.
The fact that Freckles kept the name of the person away from me caused me to speculate about who it could be. This led me to question whether or not I could trust any of my friends. I decided it’s not worth the risk anymore and, besides, they’re probably better off without me – I mean, I’m a fucking curse, obviously.
Anyway, I have a pretty good idea who told him that I was “slagging [him] off” and also told him that I’ve changed and I’m a bitch… Bad person… This all was the reason that I deleted the majority of my friends from MSN – I can’t trust them.
My problem with this person is that they are far too self centred to have ever noticed when I was upset unless I actually made sure to give them very heavy hints. They were too wrapped up in their own problems to realise or to care that other people have problems too. Because of this, I stopped telling her my problems. I shut up and listened. It’s what she wanted me to do, it seemed – but nothing is ever good enough. She decided we weren’t friends. She texted me. I may as well put it on here becasue she’s shown every fucker else and now I’m getting greif for it.
“Lesley, i’m sorry but you’ve changed. I can’t be friends with you anymore. You’ve pushed me away and we have grown apart and have nothing in common anymore.”
I know she got my reply because she’s been showing that around. But she didn’t have the decency to reply to me. I was actually waiting for a reply. I wanted to talk things up; tie up loose ends, y’know? But nobody wants to do that with me.
Nobody wants closure. They just want to drop everything and fuck off leave me to deal with it. It’s like they all, one by one, three a mirror at the floor as hard as they could so that it smashed into a million tiny, sharp pieces and left me to clear up the mess. I’m cutting myself (metaphorically) here, picking them up. It hurts. The kind of wounds that a bandage can’t fix and only a mask can hide. But bandages don’t really fix wounds and masks break easily.

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So after coming home from hanging with Oppa and the female version of Sheldon, I finished off the last of my Aero without even tasting it. I’m not sure why either. I think it made me feel sick. And my stomach hurts now.
I went outside to get the washing in but proceeded to flip out on my sister, get shouted at, and break down and cry. I’m still not sure why I was crying… I have a pain in my chest, too. It’s been there since… Idk… Tuesday? I’m not sure why it hurts.
I think I have reached my limit. I know I’m a closed person. I bottle all my feelings up so they don’t get in the way of other people. I’ve done this for so long that I don’t remember why I started doing it in the first place. So technically… It’s my own fault. I’m a mess. I’m like a bottle. Filled with gas, rather than liquid. The gas is compressed and compressed to fit more and more in up until the point that the bottle can’t hold any more and… Explodes. This process is highly irreversable and painful… If I try to walk away from this mess, I’ll cut my feet on the glass. So I have to stay here and deal with it. Seeing as though my coping mechanism was broken during the explosion… I don’t think I can handle it on my own.


I’m currently in refusal to take any form of painkillers so the headache I am having to endure is overwhelming. I almost gave in to my inner most desires and hunted down the mass of (mostly) painkillers within a handbag that I own. I know exactly where it is but I don’t want to take painkillers.
So to combat this massive headache, I’m going to go to sleep. Partly because of the headache, partly because I have nothing better to do right now. Well, I do but I’m not up to it. If you need me, don’t hesitate to text me. If you don’t have my number or lack credit, email me and I’ll get back to you.

A Danger To One’s Self


I came to the conclusion earlier today that I’m a danger to myself and others for a number of reasons… If you know me properly, you know all of the reasons. I also came to the conclusion that I should take showers rather than baths. You can drown in two inches of water, y’know… But we don’t have a shower so that’s that idea down the drain. Heh…


I’ve come to realise that one of my biggest issues is that I don’t tell people some things. I mean, I always have a reason not to but… I bottle everything up inside myself. Oppa says that admitting it’s an issue is a huge step in the right direction. This time last year, I would’ve lied and said nothing was wrong and everything is okay but now I admit to there being a problem and say I don’t wanna talk about it. Is that so bad?

I’m a closed person at heart. I’ve been brought up to believe that people don’t need to know everything. I’ve always been hesitant to tell anyone anything in case it affected something, be it their image of me or someone else or their beliefs or whatever.

You can say anything about it that you like but, truth is, I am a weak person at heart. For whatever reason, I’ve grown up to be… Scared of people, I guess. I constantly say “I hate people” the way I’ll say “I hate spiders” because I’m anthropophobic as well as being arachnophobic. I’m also agoraphobic but that’s another story. Honestly, I could list my phobias. Ahah…

I’m trying to be more open with some people. I’m trying my best and I just wish people could see that.

Mistakes


My father presented me with an oversized novelty rubbed with the words “For BIG Mistakes” written on it. For a joke, I asked if I was supposed to rub myself out with it. Ha. Dad said “Whatever. Knock yourself out.” Made me laugh. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I tried rubbing myself out anyway. Just as I expected, my efforts were for nought. The rubber, it seemed, wasn’t big enough or strong enough to erase me from existence. Then again, in erasing myself from existence, it would also change quite a few people’s history and I’m not sure such a simple tool could accomplish such a large request.

I came to wonder what people would be like if they’d never met me. I think there’d be a lot less pain and fewer broken hearts. But I also think a very select few wouldn’t be as strong as they are now or wouldn’t have had a shoulder to cry on when they needed it. After all, ground that is rained on tends to harden. But I do wonder… If someone asks a person to die, can their life really be worth living?

Inner Voice


Inside my head,
I’m screaming –
where nobody else can hear me.

It gives no
satisfaction
but to my inner voice.

Those sadists
searching my features for weakness
will never know. I hide it so well.

I do not know what you want.

Nor do I know that I can give.

But you won’t find it here, masochist.

Free me from my prison
of sadism, her and pain!

He has the key – don’t
let him lock me up again!

Update


It’s been an eventful few weeks. My neice was born on the fourteenth (I think) after a very slow labour. She’s very cute. I went to see her a few times. I broke up with my boyfriend on Thursday. Didn’t tell everyone until yesterday. Sometimes I wish emotions didn’t exist because then I couldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. Sometimes I wish I never existed to hurt anyone’s feelings. You really cannot win. For now, I wish I was better at dealing with the aftermath of the pain I caused. It’s like I’m living in the padded cell next to his and I can still hear his screams. My subconscious is screaming “Kill me now!” while my logic says “That would only hurt more people. There’s no way to get out of this. Man up and fucking deal with it. It’s your fault anyway, you deserve it.” I say I have a straight jacket on as well so I can’t even cover my ears.

Imagine Destruction


Everything,
Everything,
It breaks
before my very eyes.
And the echoes that remain
are shattered in my mind.

I watch,
Watch as the plate in my hand
falls to the ground. It doesn’t matter.
The tiny pieces, shimmering
on the tiled kitchen floor,
cut my feet as I walk
and pick up a stone from
underneath.

I see my reflection,
My reflection breaks too.
Threw the mirror across the room,
against the wall. Then I
cut my empty hands
as I picked up the shards.
My features bleeding on the glass.

The television was snowing softly. I,
I broke that too – first,
the connection, next,
the screen. I tore it
apart for the sake of it,
And the wires that connected
my memories,
I cut them. Cut them.
I cut the chord.

Then I see,
See the window shatter,
Light reflecting from
every piece. Beautiful.
I fell to the side,
cut my leg. An open wound.
The fire spread
throughout my calf and thigh,
Until it consumed the limb.

The house destroyed,
Destroyed to rubble
and ashes.
I did it, didn’t I?
Burned it after my rampage
in which I attacked my
abode. I destroyed walls,
Doors, windows, furniture.
And watched it be reduced
to ashes. It reminded me
that the clock ticks
away. It counts
The seconds, a timer,
until we are consumed
by embers and
We all burn.

There I stood, wondering,
Wondering how I,
little me, conjured these
images
in my mind.

Look, Daddy, Look!


“Look, Daddy, look!”
She stood at her fathers side,
A colourful masterpiece held with pride,
The best she’d ever done,
In her three years of life,
The colours glistening brightly on the page,
Glistening in those abstract shapes.
He picked her up and put her down
on the floor again,
Ruffled her hair,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
Her first play-mate,
Stood with her this time,
Smiling brightly from eye to eye,
The greatest friend she’d ever have,
In her six year old eyes,
They stood hand in hand,
And awaited a reply.
He glanced at them,
And smiled,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
Her outstretched hands,
Held a party hat,
Searched for a blue one,
She was proud of that,
Double digits, ‘big one-oh,’
Said to be important,
This she did know,
So she asked him to join them.
He didn’t look but smiled,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look!”
She had her boyfriend with her,
Her very first one,
She hoped he would last,
All her fifteen years had gone so fast,
He was a handsome young man,
Kind, sweet and caring,
She’d taken him with her,
To shake her father’s hand.
He only glanced,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy, look.”
She held her right wrist in a cast,
The first injury to need one,
In all twenty-one of her years,
She wanted him to know,
Of the wreckless motorcycle accident,
But would rather him hear tell,
Of her left wrist with the scars,
Scratched over her veins.
He looked at her briefly,
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”

“Look, Daddy. Look.”
The red ran from the wound,
In her twenty-eight year old skin,
It ran fast and smooth,
Suicide’s a sin,
But what else could she do,
Try as she might,
To get his attention,
And his recognition.
She fell to the ground.
“Not now, sweetie, Daddy’s busy.”