i'm having bouts of self-mutilation in my head again. most days i feel this lack of energy does me good only because it keeps me from destroying this body. the images come in succession when i'm trying to focus on writing, and mostly when i'm trying to find rest. it keeps me from sleeping. it's strange how one can be so restless and yet feel so weak. the restlessness sustains me with an illusion of control, while i feel weak when it finally becomes a kind of physical anxiety, as if i'm squirming for air in a tiny room. awful, this failure of not doing. the frustration arrives when i see how i've wasted so many days, months of my life, accomplishing nothing important.
you see, it's hard to love yourself when you've been in conflict with it for a while. self, you keep searching for different ways to resolve concerns, even opt for temporary solutions, to find another way to live; anything but the ways myself has suggested. see, here. i have paralyzed myself. settling for the things i have and still managing to lose them isn't a favorable streak. and i know it will not work; what i want isn't always what i need. self, you might want to do yourself a favor while you still have the time. already i dread losing you to contempt. get out, and while you're at it, why don't you do some real talking?
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