Status: Active
My body
Blurred
Blurs. That’s all it is. All I feel, see, hear, live.
My body’s shaking, like I’m trying to burst out of my own skin and I think really I am. I’m breaking to pieces, insanity shattering everything. I don’t understand half the thoughts that run through my brain, they’re so close and fast and blurred. I just want clarity. A sense of awareness.
Not this cold spasm that’s wracking my whole being.
As it fades, I’m replaced by someone else. I don’t know her name, nor do I want to. She’s angry, but happy, crazed but under control. She’s controlling my body and I want it back. But once she’s got it, she keeps it until she’s done. Or at least till I finally get filled with enough rage to break through her hold.
She reaches forward with my hands.
Stop! I want to say, I want to scream and yell, carve into her skin so she’ll pay attention to what I want.
But she never does. She ignores all my desperate and hopeless demands, proceeding with whatever task she always seems to be fixed on. My fingers wrap around a black handle, a sharp blade jutting from it. A huge knife used for cutting meat and vegetables.
Put it down! I order, but she doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me.
I’m filled with burning hatred as she admires the blade, glinting off the kitchen lights. I want to punch her, rip out her long blonde hair, beat her until she’s bloody and unconscious. But I can’t because she’s me and she’s living in my skin.
My finger touches the cool edge of the blade, sliding slowly down and she forces thoughts into my mind, horrible thoughts that would make bile rise in my throat if I were in control of it. Closing my eyes would be my best defense against the images flashing in front of them, but I can’t even do that because she wants them to be open. She wants me to see, to feel the blood lust and lunacy she constantly feels, constantly craves. Because she wants me to give in, for us not to be separate. She wants me to help her.
At least I think that’s what her jumbled and demented mind wants.
Get out! I scream, and my finger slips too harshly across the razor sharp edge of the knife, slicing a deep cut through my fragile skin. Blood rises from the wound, dripping out of my finger as if it were a leaking faucet.
She’s hurting me now and I won’t stand for that.
Get out, get out, get out! I’m shrieking and this time she can’t ignore me. My hands fly over my ears and her pained gasp escapes my lips, the knife clattering to the floor. Every sound I hear when she’s in control is blurred. She shrieks in more pain and raging frustration fills my entire body as she disappears and I’m back in control.
I gasp, feeling myself gain control again, as if I were rushing through each of my limbs, filling the skin again. My eyes flutter, and I feel light headed and I barely manage to keep my balance. I grip the counter top beside me, standing there for a few minutes while the blur and nausea passes.
I sigh, everything coming back into focus. I feel a stinging sensation in my index finger and I glance at it. I’m still holding tightly onto the counter top, the blood from the cut smudging across the smooth granite. I let go and inspect the cut. More blood is slowly making its way to the surface of my flesh. I carefully make my way to the kitchen sink, not trusting my equilibrium. I turn on the tap, putting my finger under the stream of cool water.
The stinging pains a bit sharper, but I ignore it.
Once it’s clean and covered with a band aid I clean up the blood on the floor and counter.
I sit down, thankful my parents are out. They’ve never met her and I’m glad. Because when she made me hold that blade, all she wanted was to kill something.
My body’s shaking, like I’m trying to burst out of my own skin and I think really I am. I’m breaking to pieces, insanity shattering everything. I don’t understand half the thoughts that run through my brain, they’re so close and fast and blurred. I just want clarity. A sense of awareness.
Not this cold spasm that’s wracking my whole being.
As it fades, I’m replaced by someone else. I don’t know her name, nor do I want to. She’s angry, but happy, crazed but under control. She’s controlling my body and I want it back. But once she’s got it, she keeps it until she’s done. Or at least till I finally get filled with enough rage to break through her hold.
She reaches forward with my hands.
Stop! I want to say, I want to scream and yell, carve into her skin so she’ll pay attention to what I want.
But she never does. She ignores all my desperate and hopeless demands, proceeding with whatever task she always seems to be fixed on. My fingers wrap around a black handle, a sharp blade jutting from it. A huge knife used for cutting meat and vegetables.
Put it down! I order, but she doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me.
I’m filled with burning hatred as she admires the blade, glinting off the kitchen lights. I want to punch her, rip out her long blonde hair, beat her until she’s bloody and unconscious. But I can’t because she’s me and she’s living in my skin.
My finger touches the cool edge of the blade, sliding slowly down and she forces thoughts into my mind, horrible thoughts that would make bile rise in my throat if I were in control of it. Closing my eyes would be my best defense against the images flashing in front of them, but I can’t even do that because she wants them to be open. She wants me to see, to feel the blood lust and lunacy she constantly feels, constantly craves. Because she wants me to give in, for us not to be separate. She wants me to help her.
At least I think that’s what her jumbled and demented mind wants.
Get out! I scream, and my finger slips too harshly across the razor sharp edge of the knife, slicing a deep cut through my fragile skin. Blood rises from the wound, dripping out of my finger as if it were a leaking faucet.
She’s hurting me now and I won’t stand for that.
Get out, get out, get out! I’m shrieking and this time she can’t ignore me. My hands fly over my ears and her pained gasp escapes my lips, the knife clattering to the floor. Every sound I hear when she’s in control is blurred. She shrieks in more pain and raging frustration fills my entire body as she disappears and I’m back in control.
I gasp, feeling myself gain control again, as if I were rushing through each of my limbs, filling the skin again. My eyes flutter, and I feel light headed and I barely manage to keep my balance. I grip the counter top beside me, standing there for a few minutes while the blur and nausea passes.
I sigh, everything coming back into focus. I feel a stinging sensation in my index finger and I glance at it. I’m still holding tightly onto the counter top, the blood from the cut smudging across the smooth granite. I let go and inspect the cut. More blood is slowly making its way to the surface of my flesh. I carefully make my way to the kitchen sink, not trusting my equilibrium. I turn on the tap, putting my finger under the stream of cool water.
The stinging pains a bit sharper, but I ignore it.
Once it’s clean and covered with a band aid I clean up the blood on the floor and counter.
I sit down, thankful my parents are out. They’ve never met her and I’m glad. Because when she made me hold that blade, all she wanted was to kill something.