The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life -Wednesday

My life is a cage
from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

If it's Wednesday, it's therapy day. Oh, I loathe therapy more than I loathe myself. I believe it's such a sham. Unless you need your brain chemistry altered in order to function properly, I see no need to go and share your most intimate shit with a stranger with a degree, but I digress.

I came out with homework: to try and build up a list of ten things I value in life and/or wish to attain in the near future. Yes, keep me engaged and try to describe what would take me further in this life. Engaged in what? I got the same shit job, shitty mates, shitty environment to cope with, and on top of that, my shitty self to live with. I try to figure out the items on this list and it looks to me that whatever I put down on this piece of paper is simply one more reason to try and end it all, once more an for all. Ah, I love it when I rhyme. Maybe I should try to rap the shit out of my depressive state and become one of those artsy musical artists with an attitude and some mystery wrapped around them. This could be good marketing. 'After trying to take own life, Johnny resets life, becomes rock-star' would read any paper across the country.

As a survivor of an attempt to free myself (suicide attempt survivor), I feel trapped. They want me to comply. "Do this and that and everything it's going to be OK, it only takes some time and patience" and mind numbing - I might add - and more pain, regrets of all sorts and my good friend, the anger. 
It makes me so mad trying to listen to all that shit my therapist had to say, so I asked her if she ever smashed a window just to see it break in to a million pieces and rejoice at the thought that it's a good thing, only misunderstood by so many, hence they call it anti-social behaviour (can't see why, objects are not human). As usual, she avoided a direct answer, mumbling something about me going deeper and exploring that feeling of joy I felt. I answered that I would gladly go deeper down her throat using my hard cock while holding her nose until she gags and teas and saliva juice altogether splash all around when I pull it out and she gasps for a breath of air. Not a muscle moved on her face, yet a vein on her temple was pulsing more vividly. I wonder whether it was with awe or with desire. She is strong enough, this one. She politely announced my that time's up, so we'd be seeing each other next time.

I left a bit disappointed and angry, but I only kicked a bin on my way home; I think someone might call it keeping it under control.


                                                    "Lay your corpse upon a nest of oak leaves
                                                             Wrapped in a star shroud repent your flesh"


                                                                 Wolves in the Throne Room - Prayer of transformation


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