Rosie, put down the vodka.

I am so angry right now.
Words cannot describe it. I so want to punch someone’s face in right now, but of course I can’t, so I resorted to banging my head, whacking myself and all-in-all, very tantrum like behaviour, for something like over an hour. The feeling is so overwhelming, the rage, coursing through my body, bringing me to tears, and then once again turning to utter hate, and 
Ijustwanttohurtsomebodysofuckingbadly but there’s a reason that I barricade myself into this room when I’m feeling like this — so no one but me will get hurt.
This is not me. I don’t get angry like this and have tantrums. I don’t hurt people. THIS IS NOT ME. So why am I acting like this? 
I’m struggling to control my feelings, and even as I type this, the tears are threatening to run down my face again, and god, I just don’t know what the hell I should be doing. There’s that one part of me, separate as always, that is utterly appalled at my own behaviour. It marvelled at the extreme child-like tantrum, and wonders why something so fucking trivial can spark such fury. It is a big deal, but nothing that warrants such an explosion of emotion, and I just don’t understand. The only explanation my mind offers me is the one I don’t want to think about but god, every second convinces me of it more and I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know, I honestly don’t, and right now I’m just so fucking ashamed and scared… and tired. Tired of being scared.

 

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Breaking 

Ever get tired, just so tired like you hope tomorrow will be a better day, and then you might have a better day but then it hits you again like a lead balloon, and there is so much to deal with so much in your mind that you cannot stop the downward spiral that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach like living in a nightmare.

Those lovely few minutes each morning when you wake before reality hits you those are the only moments of peace in your day, and there is only so long that you can keep living like that, yes okay try doing something about it, but isn’t just breathing tiring enough isn’t just trying to live breaking enough. You feel physically crippled by what is happening to you unable to move or react, so you slowly die inside until all that is left of you is a blank empty space that is just about breathing.

I am tired so tired of hurting, of knowing that I never lived up to expectation that the person who knows me the best despises me that shows what I am really, I am tired of moaning about I am tired of feeling like this I am tired of living and thinking that things might just get better, because I know now I truly know they wont. 

I am tired, and I want to sleep until it stops I want to not wake from this, and I don’t care how that happens I just need it to happen because now it has got to the point where my only comfort would be death my only peace would be death, surely no one can fault that or tell me that is the wrong choice, just try being me for an hour and you would agree.