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Wrote a short story

            Once upon a time, in a land far south and to the west, a girl was born. She was small and her body was fragile. When the doctor tried to hand the baby to her new mother, the woman waved her hand, motioning for the baby to be taken away. The mother knew, she could see it in the little girl’s eyes; she was merely a doll; an empty soul-less doll.

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Filed under Personal writing short story love

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While life isn’t exactly difficult, it can make you doubt yourself completely at times. I would say that about 80% of the time, I am exactly sure who I am. All I know for sure is that I am good at emulating other people’s emotions. It is easier for me to mutate into a mirror image of someone than it is for me to be myself. Myself…even if I was being myself, how can I know if it is truly me and not a copy of someone else? When I am with someone, I don’t have a mind of my own. I become them so that they accept me. If I ever get married, will I lose myself completely? When I was with my fiance I mimicked him perfectly. Then one day I made a new friend. A new personality that I liked and wanted for my own. So I left Derek to pursue capturing this persona. Perhaps that is all I do? I go through life capturing and storing these different types of people. Maybe that’s why I’m so messed up? How can someone live a normal life with so many different people behind their thoughts and actions? Like a puppet with twenty different people tugging at its strings. I bounce to and fro with emotions leaking out of the cracks in my wood. A doll can only withstand so much pressure. What happens when my shell bursts open and waves of different people come flooding out, leaving my body broken and trampled? What happens if the personalities leave me? I’m afraid to be left alone. What if I’m not funny? What if I’m not sweet? What if I’m not charming? What if…

I wonder if I’ve ever really had any emotions. I’ve read that a sociopath is someone without any feelings, remorse, or sense of morality. Perhaps I am only a sociopath seeking desperately to hide my true colors. If all the barriers that I’ve created slowly begin to crumble, what happens to the monster behind them? Who would I hurt? Would I even care? Of course I wouldn’t  I’m scared to let the demon go if it’s inside me. But I’m even more scared to keep it locked up. Eventually she will claw her way out of my body. Maybe that’s what cutting is? My demon taking control and using my hands to hack away at the walls of her prison. So the question is… do I fight her and keep her locked away in a world of false personas or do I give in and become who I am truly meant to be? 

(I wrote this last week. Not feeling down right now, but I was transferring it from my notebook to my computer and thought I’d share.) 

Filed under personal writing random rambling emotional dark self-harm depressed

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Twenty-seven bloody sutures
Broken memories
And shattered futures
Tainted hands
And a darkened soul
Jealous thoughts that consumed us all

I wonder if you think of me
If you’re trapped in a lonely prison
Impossible to flee
Haunted by images
Suffocating on shadows
Swallowing my dreams
Replaying the scene

Sickening moans
Serrated knife
Distorted bones
Stained soul
Morbid fate
And still with love
I cannot hate

Filed under Personal Writing Poetry Poem

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You will be a mother,
My God told me.
You will be a wonderful mother,
My heart told me.
You will be loved,
My soul told me.

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You will never be a mother,
My Doctor told me.
You are broken,
My pain told me.
You will never be loved,
My defeat told me.

Filed under personal writing poetry poem motherhood

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But he never really meant anything he said. Every ounce of love spilled from his twisted mouth was a lie. Every scar cut in to my skin is a ruse. It forces the pain that threatens to scream forward through my body back down in to the blackness that festers there. All of the long discolorations on my arms and legs, battle scars.

Filed under Writing Personal self-harm