The Haunts I Create For Myself

I don't even want to care anymore. I don't want to think. I don't want to breathe. I want to go out and get totally shitfaced drunk until I can't feel anything anymore. My hands are bloody from the cuts on my legs and my heart aches from the scars of the past.

Anger. So much anger.

Sometimes I don't know how much fight I have left in me. I know that I need days like today to rough me up so I can handle anything that comes my way. So that nothing will knock me off my feet.

How can I be knocked off my feet when I'm already on the ground?

I'm holding on by the merest thread. Any touch, however gossamer it may be, will send me plummeting back into the darkness. I've been sleeping all the time and skipping class. My grades are falling from A's to my first ever B's (hey, that's a big deal for me).

This shouldn't be happening. I'm a god fucking damn genius for Christ's sake. But I can't even overcome my own mind. The haunts I create for myself. The imagined obstacles and enemies of my own creation that stalk my world and leave me as a shivering paranoid psychotic; reclused to my room, curled in a ball in the corner.

Literally

I feel trapped in this imperfect body and taunted by this imperfect mind. This sadistic bastard of a brain that delights in my sorrow, fed by my folly.

I'm running out of time. If I can't gain the upper hand on this thing soon, it will kill me.