My Fucking Mess Of A Life

Punished.

Four days. That's how long it took for the something to finally do it. I wasn't sure exactly what 'it' was going to be but I knew I wasn't going to like it. I was right. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be but it was still bad. I was being punished. Four days earlier, I had had my weekly therapist appointment. That was Tuesday. I told her about my story. The very one I'm writing for right now. I had told my mom about it but asked her not to read it. I didn't want to scare her. I also didn't want her to confiscate my blades. She was asking me questions in the car and I wasn't answering. I could tell she was getting exasperated with me. I wanted to talk. I couldn't. The voice was fighting as hard as it could until something slipped out. "I can't talk. I write." My mom started asking me about that, but I couldn't say anything other than the platform. The something had regained control and after that slip up, it was not letting another one happen. Not during this conversation. When I got to my appointment that night, my therapist said I was going to have to talk. I looked at my mom, silently begging her to remember the car ride this morning. Thankfully she did. She explained that I write and told her the website/app that I write on. I was able to speak after that. I told her how to use it and how to find my story. The something had been pushed to the side for now. She sat there reading all seven chapters as I looked at pictures on my phone. After awhile she finally finished it. She asked my mom to leave and when she did, she started talking to me. I don't recall all of what she said but I remember that she was focusing on my father. My stomach felt queasy and I had to struggle to keep my tears in. I didn't care about my father. I didn't want this to be about him again. I was hoping that she would bring up the something. That was the big problem. I had barely seen my father at all lately throughout the day. When it seemed like she wasn't going to bring up the something, I started losing control. The something started talking again. 'Of course she wouldn't get it. Why would you think that she would? Are you really that fucking stupid? All you did now was tell her everything you've done that you weren't suppose to and it did nothing. You always make the wrong choice. You idiot. This is why you shouldn't be alive.' It kept going for a long time. I couldn't stop my physical reaction to the words. I was pressing my palms to my face, trying to stop the tears. I was writhing around on the couch, my throat feeling like it was closing. This went on for what was probably just a few minutes, but felt like hours to me. When I finally sat up, I had tears running down my face despite my desperate efforts to stop them. My breathing was all over the place. I either wasn't breathing at all, and if I was, it was fast gasps that caused my heart rate to spike alarmingly before I stopped breathing all together again. I was pulling my hair and clutching my head. My therapist told me to breathe and calm down. At least, I think that's what she said. I don't remember everything to well. She asked if I wanted water to which I responded to with a no. I grabbed the tissues and started pressing them to my eyes, hoping to stop the flow of tears. She called my mother in who came and sat next to me. She asked if she could touch me and I said yes. She pulled me into a hug and started rubbing my back while I sat there sobbing into her. When I finally calmed down a bit, I pulled away but not in the way that I wanted her to leave, just because I knew I was going to have to talk. I grabbed more tissues and started wiping everywhere on my face. I asked for some water. We started talking but I don't remember exactly what about. We talked about hospitals and medical stuff and schools. At one point they both said something like a compliment or similar, but before I could even comprehend exactly what, the something was saying that they were lying. I don't remember when or how I said it, but in midst of my panic attack, I had mentioned the something. I had told them that I couldn't really call it a voice because it sounded just like everything else in my head. All I knew was that it said bad things to me and about me. When it said they were lying, I cried out "It keeps saying you're lying!" I tried explaining that it wasn't me. At least I don't think it's me. I didn't want to think like this but I couldn't help it. I felt tired. My eyes burned from crying and rubbing at them. My throat was dry despite the water. I just wanted to leave. In the end, we decided if this happens again, I should be taken to the hospital. We went home and that was that. Now, it's four days later and the something has decided I need to be punished. Punished for not listening. Punished for opening my mouth and speaking, for breaking down, for opening up. I sat on the swing and looked at my nails. They weren't extremely long, but I hadn't bitten them in awhile. The something decided this would be my punishment. I dug the nails of my left hand into the back of my right hand. I kept pushing despite wanting to stop because of the pain. Every time I thought about stopping, the something would just make me push my nails in deeper, harder. When I was finally allowed to stop, I had two crescent marks on my hand. The skin was hanging off just a tiny bit. I pulled it away and stared at the marks. I hated this. I hated that I did this to myself. I couldn't control it though. I misbehaved and the something didn't like that. I had a feeling that this would not be the last time I something like this. I also knew that there they would get worse. I was being punished by myself and I couldn't control it.

4/7/17