Adaptation to hell.

I never gave much thought to the reality associated with scratching my own back. I am overdrawn. My reserve is depleted.

The silence, solitude and darkness is comforting he said. Maybe for him. but here, in this place - it is a preview to a sinner's hell. A glimpse at the torment that welcomes and entices you in with promises of fulfilled rage and satisfying anger.

Its fucked it. And because you have given into your rage, because you have fed your anger; the ability to save yourself from the hell you once embraced with open legs and a closed heart has consumed the very essence of your existence.

He was right. It is nice here.

Seriously?

I can’t really put into words what I feel. I have never been at a loss for words, and often times have too many to share. But right now, I can not seem to string together a series of words to create a coherent thought let alone a sentence.

There are no clear sound thoughts in my head. Just outbursts of pain, rage, confusion and disgust.

I am caught between the temptation of carrying out random acts of violence and random outburst of uncontrollable sobbing mixed with the painful songs of loss. What do I want? I have no idea. What do I need? See the answer to what I want.

Leave me alone and go away. Stay and hold me. Within the same breath, I’m hot and cold, in pain and numb, hungry and full, tired and wide awake and a loyal traitor. If I have never been before – I am now the epitome of a walking, talking, breathing, struggling to survive contradiction. A dichotomy, oxymoron and dark sadistic muse.

The need to assign blame is natural. But how natural is it to blame yourself for not having the strength to control others from putting you in a situation to assign unwarranted blame to yourself?