...that's a great way to shatter my soul.

Thank you, oh mass of psychoses I call a mind. Thank you for leaving me sick to my stomach and ready to slit my own throat just because I had a damned good orgasm. Thank you for making me hate myself even more than I already do. Thank you for prodding and poking and then outright fucking me over until I end up spilling some of the worst possible bits of trivia about myself to someone who is damned near a stranger.

Thank you for being the reason I can't look in a mirror today.

Thank you for the tears I can't stop crying.

Thank you for the dry heaves when I think of everything I've done, everyone I've hurt.

Thank you for reminding me of every single time I fucked someone over, or hurt them, or betrayed them, or damaged them... failed them.

took a drive
up the coast
for the first time
where the cities
are few and far between
found redemption...

But that's just it. I can't find redemption. It doesn't matter how much blood I draw, it doesn't was me clean. It doesn't matter how deep I scratch, I can't tear out the filth. It doesn't matter how much I suffer, how much I cry, how much pain I drink in, whether mine or someone else's... and each time I try to drown myself in someone else's pain or need or fear or lust... it's just another mark against me.

'cause I've been feeling uninspired
battered and
broken
tired...

This hurts so much... but not in a cleansing way. Not in the way that lets me pour it out and maybe, maybe, find some way to make up for it. Make it better. Heal someone, to make up for hurting the ones before him. Comfort someone, to make up for the fear I gave to the last one. Maybe give just one person the sort of life I wish I'd had... the sort of life the ones I damaged should have had.

I'm so careful now, so careful, I don't want to damage my boys, not ever... I want them safe and sound and happy... but even careful, even wary, I hurt them sometimes too much... and gods... even saving them...

...it doesn't fix what I've done.

It doesn't make it better, really.

It doesn't make me clean again.

Funny. Most of the time I think that despite the Splitting, despite the kinkiness, despite the illnesses and stress... I'm not that bad off. I'm not that BAD. I'm ok. Almost safe.

And then I look at what's behind me in the shadows.

How the hell can I forget about Alex or Angel? Hell... they're GOOD memories. They almost balance out the shit that is filling my mind right now.

Please, don't talk about this with me. This is another one of those 'I just need to say it' entries. Not a discussion. Not even close. Just... me.

Me.

Shattered, as I used to be.

Hating myself, as I used to.

Disgusted by everything I am, as I used to be.

Wanting to hurt.

Wanting to suffer.

Wanting something to balance this out.

Atonement.

Penance.

*curls up tightly*

You cannot save me
you can't even save yourself
I cannot save you
I can't even save myself

The first rule of survival: heal.

I'm really lousy at that, when talking about m'self. It all cuts too deep. I don't even know where to start. All I know is that once again, I truly hate myself.

Oh, don't get me wrong... I'm not going to cut myself, or try to die, or anything else stupid. I'm just going to hurt, inside, unendingly. As I always have. As I always will.

This next lifetime is gonna be one hell of a trip, if Karma is real.