Mind at Work -------------------------------------------
I think I have a problem.
Tarie showed me her secret.
Her secret opened a door I had closed a long time ago.
It was an ugly time and I was an ugly person.
It makes me bleed metal to think about it. Bleed metal?
What does that mean?
I don't know.
I go to the bathroom a lot when I am at home.
I weigh myself before and after.
It makes me angry to see how much I weigh. But I don't like feeling like that.
Scales scare me.
It's weird, like I think it is Tarie.
I'm scared of her.
I actually hate her.
She is supposed to be a friend.
She hurt me.
I feel like all the muscles in my body are contracting.
I feel tight.
I cry for no reason sometimes.
I don't know there may be a reason.
There are so many things I want to change about me.
I can't sleep.
I don't like to eat, thinking about wanting to sleep makes me sick.
Then when I get tired I get scared.
Like I feel that I won't wake up.
I think about death a lot.
But I am not suicidal.
I love life.
I love it so much it scares me.
I don't think people would like me as much if they knew me.
My friends, they don't know me.
I miss Kim.
She killed herself.
She told me.
It's a great burden to carry.
To tell your friend to shut up when she is trying to say goodbye.
It was at a basketball game.
I used to feel guilty.
I don't anymore. And that fact makes me feel it again.
Sometimes I imagine my brother or mom or dad has died.
Every time, it was very gruesome.
I turn my head really fast to get rid of those thought.
Am I crazy?
Because I know or I think I know these thoughts are not normal.
I see things.
I hear things.
The word thing is the only term I can think of to describe them.
I don't think that they're really there.
I hear "things" others don't.
Maybe they're deaf.
My wrists ache and burn right before something bad or sad happens to me or around me.
I don't like mirrors.
I think I'm fake.
I guess I'm not crazy.
Maybe they are.
It's not me.
They're dead and fake.
I can smell it.
The poems that I write are so full of shit.
I'd be willing to bet you either felt a whole lot better after writing this, or a whole lot worse. Most likely the first one. I think everyone needs a good rant once in awhile and I am very impressed that this came out so well. Usually when I write something like this, my emotion gets in the way of the part of my mind that cares about the write and it becomes a pile of literary dog crap. This definitely is your mind at work. As far as your friends not knowing you, I understand that concept completely. I think you have to really be a different kind of person to be a writer. I think that's why writers get along so well together. It's like "finally! someone sort of like me!"
i like the style this is written in, quite literally your mind at work. the continious flow of thought after thought, provoked a few of my own thoughts, about questioning yourself for thinking strange things. i'm now satisfied that everyone must do it.