I don't know that I could explain to you the exact causes of my suffering, not any more. I do know that I spend my days in a perpetual "nightmare" without respite. And I realize that is an uncomfortable idea for someone to hear/read since, after all, what are people without dramatic declarations? But it is the truth.

Tell me, how long must a person contain a feeling such as this before other people no longer assume that they seek pity or are melodramatic? Two weeks, two months, two years? Is the nature of their situation enough to lay questions of emotional stability to rest? Let me see. What if you went from a job where your religious ideals were seen as weakness, a personal affront to the content non-observer, to a home where 90% of each hour is spent in discomfort and unhappiness under the thumb of a person who considers your independence to be a weakness, considers you a content non-observer? What would you do if you Lived to be unconscious, if you fell asleep each night dreaming it would be your last? If I were to be honest with myself, the only happiness I have felt in some time is that which I derive from forgetting where I am. I read a book or I play a game and suddenly, I am not me. But the minute you look up, you're back.

 

 

I already know what it is that is happening to me.  I am forsaken, perhaps by myself if no one else, yet I am the only influence in my broken heart's world.  To think that I would talk to myself, reason with myself, share with myself.  I must be crazy, this, this must be what crazy is. Did I embrace and bite of it...  Is that what I have done?  What has befallen me that I must have cavalierly disregarded...

Your wretched eyes are hidden in their darkened, hollow sockets Ryan.  But I see them peer into what can not be seen, see them seek out that which you will never find.  I know that your tears ought be blood, why you yearn to scratch at your face that you might cry as you deserve, let its crimson pour from your soul.  You already know that its deep, flowing red can be the only beautiful part of your body, of your wicked soul.  It is your life that tells this story.  You let blood pour from your body while a solution sits near.  Watching it run down your face, slowly moving to look as it drips from your fingers, soaked in your life as they are.  I know why you do these things.  Do you think you can really hide it from me, that you have grown so proficient at giving yourself problems?  That they didn't hear has made you more blind, more foolish than you ever were.  You will die.  I see you fade everyday, see you walk about alone, your pathetic attempts to reach out, your pathetic attempts to garnish support.  You have already lost Ryan, I spare no tears for such a wretch.  For this fight, that fight you could never describe, it has already been finished.  You will never help anyone.  And you will never help yourself.  I hate you Ryan, if anyone could tell what you are they would hate you too.  I hate you so much. 

How alone I am now, how miserably alone.  Nothing has changed that I still bleed from old wounds, still cry old tears.  Do I run out of blood so soon, is that to be my life's lesson?  That "will" was never there, that worth never existed.  You should be dead Ryan.  Your life's story told once more, its sharp edges ought to cut you an eternity.  How many more times must it be told before you fall over?  Oh, *mocking laugh* forgive me, you thought this was unbearable, I remember.  I know that you know worse, you worthless creature.  I will make it worse.  That you live with pain everyday is not enough, I will take you back to debilitation.  How long can you stand on such weak legs I wonder?  How long can you withstand my pressures.  You WILL fall.  You are already falling anyway.  Accept once again that your life is forfeit.  She didn't know what she was doing to convince you otherwise.  Your life was never meant to be special, you are meant to be destroyed, broken, dead.  And she does not need your tribute, does not care for your gift.  I understand, it is mine to make your life.  Leave it.  It is gone, that worth, it left with her.  You fool...  you hopelessly lost piece of meat.  I will break you as you were always meant to be broken.  And the world will laugh.  Standing over you broken form will be a uniting celebration, your one gift to the world.  There, see, am I not merciful?  I have designed a gift, found you a way to help others, to bring them joy.  So you will fall.  I will chop you down without mercy.  Didn't anyone ever tell you it was dangerous to climb?

This could only make me think of you Jason :)

http://www.cracked.com/article_16032_25-most-disturbing-sex-toys.html