I go insane, when the tiniest things happen. And then I think, about doing myself in. I think about it hurting them. All of them. But some of them, the innocents, I don't want to hurt them, like that. The small ones. They're young, so they might forget it. But you never know. And I don't want them, to be anything like me. Or like her.
I want to cry, but I can't. I'm not sad, I'm angry. I want to hurt someone. I want to make them scream, and I want them to hurt me back. I want to get my ass kicked. I need it. But he isn't around anymore, to provoke. He's moved on. So have I, until nights like this come around. Then I want him here. I want him to hurt me, and make me cry, and make me feel utterly worthless. It helps me. It's what I deserve. I can't help it. It's how I think.
I sound insane, rambling on. But I'm slowly feeling better, as I write. The tightness in my stomach is easing, the throbbing in my brain, is slowing down. I'm relieving myself, of all of these emotions. I'm getting them out, and it feels good. But there's always that warning at the back of my mind. I like to write, and get it out. But someone might read this, someone who views me as, what I portray myself to be, and they'll judge me. They'll hate me for having these thoughts. But it helps me.. That's all.