you sit in a dim room, still. there is nothing out of place except the mounds of clean and dirty clothes on the floor. today you managed to clean the spilt coffee from the floor, the blood off the sheets, the tobacco stains from the pillow. blood drips down from the walls. thats a problem, but you can take care of it. eventually.

your father came over to yell at you for not taking care of yourself, or you think it was him. it mightve been anyone — at this point who knows. youve been eating so many klonopin and drinking so heavily you might as well have been speaking to to a broom. its okay because you have therapy today. your therapist is going to say ‘you have to take care of yourself’. be more selfish. your ego is damaged.

thats funny, because all you can think is that you are already the most selfish person who ever lived. damaged ego? isnt everyone damaged to some extent? what makes you so special? being fucked as a kid doesnt make you special. sometimes you feel you wear that abuse as a badge of honor. look what ive been through. none of YOU could handle getting fucked like i did. then again, youre the one slicing bits off of you and telling the people you love to fucking die so really, youre not winning at anything here.

your father or whoever talks about self actualization, which seems like one of those things self help gurus pedal at housewives and businessmen looking for promotions. align your fuckin’ chakras. you got a million people telling you that you arent doing your therapy right and you arent taking care of yourself correctly so you just shut down. dont shower, dont leave the house, dont clean your room. if you didnt do it automatically, youd stop breathing too. you cant self actualize. thats for other people. maybe if you read one of those self help books youd magically become a productive member of society instead of a failed suicide machine.

the thing you are very good at is attempting suicide and saying GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD! and failing and then coming back with your tail between your legs because you chickened out or failed. didnt cut deep enough so thats ten days in the chokey. didnt mix the right drugs together so thats eighteen straight hours of dreamless sleep for you. all you want is a break from living. reset this life. youve already ruined it.

i mean youre alone again and you remember that sometimes two people shouldnt be together and sometimes thats no ones fault. yeah, things just didnt work out. briefly you feel better. clearly though that doesnt apply to you because you are an a-b-u-s-e-r. you hurt people my dude. you sit around and make other peoples lives miserable because you cant fuckin’ own your shit. yeah that guys probably right too. who cares. theres blood that needs scrubbing from the walls.

where do you go from here.

you can try to kill yourself again but this stupid body wont die (trains are more lethal that voice hisses but today you dont really feel like trying anymore). you can beg your ex that youll be a better person and stop stucking the life out of his soul but you both know you cant keep that promise. people tell you to be more selfish but you already are deeply selfish, all you do is think about yourself. you want everyones attention at all costs, even if it kills them, isnt that selfish enough?

maybe its a different kind of selfish. maybe its the kind where you know when enough is enough. when you can take a shower and relax and deal with your feelings without wishing death on others or yourself. maybe recognizing that you are, in fact, important and dont need to rely on the recognition of other people in order to prove youre a person. if they dont recognize your existence then are you even real? pathetic. i cant believe you even fucking need someone to tell you that youre real! abusive. manipulative. just die, the world is better off.

this time you think its time for a different approach. the blood on the walls needs scrubbing.