Monsters

Sometimes i think too much- i shouldn't, thinking too much just opens the doors to the monsters. i need to learn when to think and when to live. i hurt myself again. sometimes i feel like a ghost drifting through life- people see me, people feel me, people know i'm there, they interact but i'm floating in my mist filled dream world- here but not present- alive but not connected. i feel i need to anchor myself to someone, something or i will drift off and never stop- i will lose myself behind the veil beyond my eyes, will disappear as i am and resurface cold, dead and detached from life. i feel to keep myself in this world i must resist being alone and must find solace in others, but at the same time i don't want to be weak and need is weakness so instead i find the company of  others but detach from them so i can be strong but then i don't stop thinking, i don't talk i just float anchored by the thin string attaching me to whoever is near- sometimes the string is not enough- i need a knot or a peg to tether me better- then i hurt myself- it acts as a constant reminder to stay present, here, to not float into the abyss. i don't cut or anything- i scratch- scratching's less obvious- easier to explain away- just as strong an anchor. if you concentrate on one area the anchor stays- it's a rythmic action- a dependable, controllable action- it's concentrated- it's sensory for me- i need the input and the repetition to get me through, to keep me weighted, to help lock the boxes and hide the monsters. my brain never stops, it won't let me rest- it urges me forward never stopping to think the thoughts running through may not be the best- if it would only stop for a little bit- it runs so fast i can't organise my thoughts into those that help and the ones that are useless. it goes to fast for me to keep up. i can't write what i think or what i feel because i don't truly know, why does it speed- when will the flow of endlessness slow- when will it let me rest and be fine again- why does it do this in a circular manner- all the thoughts come back to the same place and then play again- my mind is a record on repeat- they mount and build up, the bad thoughts from my life collect and gather and wait for the whirlwind around my skull- it lasts forever the tornado of thoughts- infecting my waking hours and my dreams- my dreams turn into conversation i will never have- they turn in images of myself broken and bloody- they turn into my life and in my dreams the thoughts never stop. i write and i write to try give them escape but they are stubborn. i need to find a way to break the cycle and put them all back into their boxes- a way to re-sort and compart all of my monsters- monsters hmmm that is a new term for me- it popped into my mind today- i'm still not certain what i mean by monsters- do i mean aspects of me??- do i mean thoughts?? the memories?? not one of these quite works- the term monsters covers all the badness in my mind- it is a broad term for me- it is a filler term for something i don't have a name for. maybe it will change over time when i become more aware of what it is i'm trying to describe but for now they are my monsters- My monsters in boxes.
                                                                                                                       10th july (night)

Compartments

Sometimes i wonder how i manage to be so normal, so happy, so grounded. i mean my childhood wasn't the greatest or the most normal- i've been through my shit and exited the other side mostly unscathed- how did i manage this?? maybe it's my ability to compartmentalise everything- it all gets put into a box, locked and put on a shelf- the monsters stay hidden. this system works for me- it keeps me sane, it keeps me happy, it keeps me grounded, it keeps me from breaking down breaking to pieces- and when the monsters try to escape it write, writing gets them out and keeps me safe, keeps me from hurting or feeling their sting so much. sometimes the monsters get out though- then i fall- i fall into the pit they create- i lose control- control i must regain if i am to survive. then i hurt. i fall so far i can no longer write- i can only sit- hide- hurt. it's hard to find a way out from that pit but i know i must- i never know how i manage but i always do. sometimes i stay there for days, sometimes weeks but then something will happen to help me up closer to the top, it brings me far enough out of the pit for me to climb the rest of the way out myself- to the point when i can write and clear the monsters from my head- put them all back in their boxes- back on the shelf and get myself back to safety. this is how i manage- it is how i've always managed- if i didn't i would go mad. writing- pain- exercise, these are my saviours, and a wicked ability to put everything into boxes on the shelf.
                                                                                                                  10th july (day)