August 16, 2011

I don’t care who I hurt in the process.

I don’t care.

I’m a closet sociopath. I am Dexter before Rita.

Morbid curiosity is like candy. Lures me into a horror coma. Comatose and disturbed. The imagery in my brain is horrific. Horror. Horrendous.

Awful words swirl like a bad drink in my mind creating sad thoughts.

You are not my friend. Stop talking. I want to cut you off. If I do, I’ll regret it. I’ll create a whole new meaning for self loathing and self guilt. It will be awkward. Silent nods and heartbreaking smiles. I’ll miss you. I’ll try to convince myself I don’t care.

I’ll lock myself and plunge head first into madness.

Right now, I don’t care if I hurt you. If you’re offended by my words. I don’t care. In my head, I’m 5 again. Throwing meaningless tantrums. I fold my arms over my chest and pout. I lie on the ground and stomp my feet and bang my hands. I cry out clichés like, ‘it’s not fair!’ and ‘you started it!’  I try not to think about the fact that it’s my fault.  I try to forget what I said and only focus on your words. Your venom. I forget how to spell and how to pronounce the words.

I don’t care who gets hurt in the process. I don’t care.

I am Dexter before Rita.

If I never saw you again, I wouldn’t care.  “never mind, I’ll find someone like you...” I don’t wish you the best. If I never met you, would my life be better?

I get lost in the horror. Blood and guts. It’s so much more than that. What are you trying to do to me?? I’m lost in that scene. I need to tell you what I’ve seen, so I’m not so alone with this horror show in my head.

I am a deranged moth drawn to a deadly flame. My soul is tainted. But like a domestic slave, I come crawling for more. Salivating at the atrocities I’m about to see.  I set myself on fire every night.

I get hurt in the process. I don’t do anything to stop it. I perpetuate it. Antagonize myself and others. There is no air. In my head it all makes sense.

There is a maze of demons. I need a flashlight to navigate the darkness of my mind.

My soul is ruined.

I am Dexter before Rita.

I want to push you away. I want to tell you we’re not friends. I want to tell you to stop acting like my friend. I don’t care if I hurt you. Suddenly, everything about you makes me angry.  If I push you away, I’ll be devastated. I’ll sit heartbroken and sad.  If one more person yells at me, I’ll huddle into a corner and cry.  People are mean.

My mind is stained. Covered in unimaginable imagery. Words cannot express. I used to count on you to be my guide in the darkness. I can’t even whisper your name anymore.  My brain is like a clenched fist. Horrible images pulsate through me. I can barely breathe.