Ummmm I just realized I am jonesing for pain. What. No. Not good. Bad. Bad! I’m bad. This is really bad. I’m bad, right? What’s wrong with me? I’m wrong! I’m so wrong and I’ll never be fixed because no one can fix garbage. No one can fix what’s never been perfect. I guess that has to do with my ideas of perfection, people, and myself. I can say that and talk about it but I don’t know what to do.

Which also rings inscrutable because of how I spend my time. I only know exactly what to do when there is a crisis. I’m fabulous in a crisis! But what the hell do I do every mundane day inside of all my mundane minutes? I’m trapped in a body, trapped in a moment, Trapped, TRAPPED! *unintelligible screaming*

I need another option but I don’t have any ideas! What do I do instead of inflicting pain on myself? It sounds like an insane question. I’m usually the best at brainstorming; too good in fact. Almost anything can be destructive but I’m less certain where that line is. I know balance is important. And difficult. And addictions are bad. And difficult. So what? What do I do?

Even now when I struggle with a turn of phrase or a particular word I look down at my arm and start scratching. It’s alarming! It’s. . . maddening. It’s hopeless.

“Hopeless” lands very differently when you take away the exclamation point. Having no more hope in a partucular direction doesn’t mean I don’t have hope for other things. People deal with such hopelessness as this every day, right? That means I should be able to deal with it. Why do I have trouble dealing with things! Why do I fail at perfection?

Dying is a little bit easier and a lot more attainable than being perfect.

I need to ease up on the throttle somehow.

I cannot remember having skin that was whole. I cannot remember my body being mine. I cannot remember. Do I want to remember? I cannot remember without wanting to forget.

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