a monster

Then I fucking relapse so hard and I can’t find someone to reach out to a panic begins to set in. I’m so disgusted with myself that the people I can reach out to I pull away from. I recoil from them like a vampire from sunlight. A werewolf from silver. I’m a fucking monster and I don’t see it getting any better. If I can’t fill my head with the voice of someone I love or respect then it’s just me in there and I’m not good company. I can be sure of that much so why not just reach out more and try and quell the rising rumble of rage and rejection of self that wrecks my reason and resolve? Because as I get down that list of voicemails and unread messages I become afraid of over extension and when I see those replies I become disgusted by my burdensome grotesque nature. I am a ghost haunting all the precious periods of peace that people I claim to love so painfully procured for themselves. Waiting to strike like a venomous snake and ruin their evening as they hear me hiss incessantly or watch as I become Jormungander and threaten to release my tail and bring this Ragnarok to fruition. I am a fucking nightmare and a travesty.

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