my personal essays

entry five

  itching. buzzing. thinking like this feels like a thousandth wasps under my skin. anger, jealousy, murder, revenge, these are things i thought only could so fiercely exist in books. i am screaming. i am crying. there is a fuzzy black carpet with a limp, breathless woman on it. i don't know what to do. the ones that are closest to me make me feel the most left out. lonely, oh so lonely. no, this cannot be true. it is only my bipolar perceptions of my surroundings. the feelings subside and i am me again. although i am sad, filled with sorrow, depressed. do i need anymore examples? i think i've used enough words. it's only a matter of time till my cynical mind will be no more. i know people are addicted to things: sex, drugs, eating. over consumption of these things,  anything worldly really, no balance in life creates our problems, makes our sin beautiful and habitual. i know that people have issues resulting in these sins and addictions. i feel them. i taste, touch, and hear them, but i am quiet until they come out. i have shame, but i still don't want any of this tempting sin to go away. i want to be free, yet i'm letting them take me to the darkest caves. yes, deep, deep, deep into the hell fire. i walk through, but do not burn. i am dancing with them by my side. i realize now that all of these words are becoming over used. they're all the same, just within these sentences, rearranged. i now understand why i do not like the pronouns assigned with the two sexes male and female; it is because i am not the only spirit in this body. everyone has told me i'm crazy, that they're dark things inside. i'm just beginning to see it all spill out. throw it up, letting it bleed. it flows all throughout my fists, eyes, mouth, and lastly to that beautiful, dimpled face. i am a parasite to anyone i touch. the first person i see will be the victim; it is you. this is no threat, only theoretical speaking but they, them inside would not say yes. they speak so loud within my visions and dreams. they tell and show me so many things, but they are only dreams. (or are they?) because i'm starting to believe, in maybe the wrong things. i'm typing this very fast right now. the words are just piling up in my brain, faster than my fingers can move, and i really don't know what else to do. if in another place and time would i know? but maybe what they tell me isn't what i want to do. it's funny how i've never seen an angel in my life. i have felt them though. it may seem scary at first, cold and unkind, but i promise you it is just a dead lover passing by. i've already forgotten the words above that have five syllables and can be rhymed, combined, and arranged differently throughout time. but that is no longer. to all i love: these are some of the reasons why my nails are so short, they are physically eating me to shreds. this is why the scratching occurs, so i can finish their deal to the Devil. this is why i play my music so loud, so i can't hear them yelling and hissing in my ear. even then, they are still blaring through my brain. these are some of the reasons why i get slightly angry at the birth and celebration of our Savior and can't bear to look at that cross. my skin rises, heightens from the Spirit or spirits, but it is not cold or warm. it is a scorching, flaming hot. itching. buzzing. thinking like this feels like a thousandth wasps under my skin. i am screaming. i am crying. there is a fuzzy black carpet with a limp, breathless woman on it. i didn't know what to do, but they already knew.