n.a.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 29, 2020

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 29, 2020

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These periodic outbursts that she carefully keeps beneath the surface, so potent, so raw, make her feel both the sorrow and twistedly, bliss of life. The ability to love something, oh yes something not a stupid boy, something that pours into your container of a soul filling it, letting it overflow in a cascading torrent of … emotion. It was only at night, when she feels her heartbeat echoing through the pillow (okay strange way to put it but im sure you know what she means - when you lie on your side). The dark side of the bipolarity emerges, consuming her and breaking every mental barrier that she has carefully erected over the past few weeks. The sense of control, control of her life that she thought she finally had melted away and in the same old dread crept in. A cacophony of voices overlapping, clamouring to speak, to occupy her mental space. Coming in before the other could finish its words. All serving the same purpose: to question her, to doubt her worth, to make her lose control again and again. And she realises she might never be free of this turmoil. But she could. She could. She could. She could. But can she? What if she really did it? Will she truly be happy? Why was she doubting her happiness? Why? Did she deserve to be happy? What if she will never be happy? What if her life was one regretful tragic episode? Why was she a coward? Why was she born such a fucking mediocre? Why did her friends, arguably of lesser ability, seem to embody a courage that she never had? To love? Why was she such a fucking coward? WHY IS SHE NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO LOVE. WHY? DO YOU LIKE THE PAIN? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU?  DO YOU LIKE PAIN? COWARD. Im going fucking crazy. Incoherent sorry. Sorry. Sorry sorry. I’m okay. I dunno. Episodes i guess. She’s okay. She is fine. She is in control. Until she loses it again i guess. But is it my fault? Im doubting myself again. Again. Agian. Again . god this hurts. It really does. To doubt yourself. Most of all to doubt whether you love. To make yourself doubt that you love. What if you regret? What if you regret that you doubted yourself? What if you regretted that you ever loved at all? It is me. And im trying not to love it. Am i trying not to love myself too? 

 


© Copyright 2020 angst. All rights reserved.

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