Where’s The Angel On My Shoulder?

It’s impossible for me to put these thoughts into words, as I haven’t even come close to discovering what they truly are.

I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself. In the endless pit of my mind, I’m lost. I don’t know where to go. I’m alone.

Sometimes I imagine myself in a cage just throwing my body at the bars, trying to get out. But I never do. My own soul won’t let me.

I have such amazing days, then they all go black, and a darkness settles in. I can’t find the switch, and I’m slipping.

Everyone says they know what I’m dealing with, and that they’ve dealt with “similar” problems before. But that’s it right there! You haven’t! You don’t know what I’m feeling, because I can’t pronounce them properly. You don’t get that every time I see a knife I want to shove it into my skin. You don’t know that when I drive, and come to a red light, I just want to drive directly in the intersection and hope that someone hits me. You don’t know how badly I want to turn off the lights.

But I would never do those things. I would never harm myself. But the ideations of doing so are driving me mad. The voice told me to do it. I should do it.

He’s not mean or cruel, he’s just confused. So he’s giving me bad directions to where I should be.

He tells me not to eat. But then I see food, and he tells me to eat it all.
He tells me not to be happy. As soon as I feel the need to smile, he tells me to be the happiest that I’ve ever been.

Every day.

He tells me to look in the mirror and hate myself, but then tells me I look pretty. And when I turn away, he calls me fat.

I had an attack. I couldn’t breathe, and my heart was in a panic. He was squeezing my insides.

I don’t want him in my head anymore. I’m so tired. I’m scared that it’s just going to get worse. I’m afraid of what he’s going to say next.

He says it’s going to be okay, but then whispers to me, “lie”.

I want to rip out every strand of hair, in hopes that I rip him out too. I can’t take this anymore.

I’ve reached out for help, but no one actually helps. They just tell me “don’t worry, it will get better”.

But what if it doesn’t? What if he only prefers to take the elevator, and has every button pressed. I’ll be here forever. Opening myself to the wrong doors.

I live with a demon. I’m not ashamed. I don’t want to keep him anymore.

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Should I Write It In a Letter?

Magic.

Just pure magic.

What I felt was just endless possibility. I felt loved for just a split second. Until the second was over I felt at peace. Never opening my eyes to see the reality staring right at me.

One day is the only time it took. But of course I refused to come face to face with the honesty of the whole thing. Dreaming was what I was used to. I didn’t know what it was. I was a child to affection. But it felt so good. So warm. So gentle.

My insecurities shining like a diamond. But they were taken, and held, and sheltered.

But, I didn’t have the courage to tell you how nice it was; you left.

Should I write this in a letter to you?

I loved every single second of your comfort. And now I’m alone once again.
But that isn’t your fault. You had to go back home, to where you know.

Now, I don’t belong.

But I can’t say any of this to you. I don’t know you like that. But I know myself like that, and I can necessarily trust that it’s the same.

I get so caught up in the moment, that I begin to believe that something is so much more than what it really is. It’s not realistic. I should stop. Put tape over my mouth and make me quiet. I’m like saran wrap. Just rip me off so there’s no static cling. Please for your own sanity.
My insanity will be fine. There will be too much of it, and I’ll get lost.