Well meaning folks & self scalping for survival

Well meaning folks don't know better. 

Think bad thoughts? Just say fuck you and think good thoughts. It's not as though I don't already use this technique. But sometimes that switch does not work. Sometimes yoga doesn't work. Music. Writing. Errand running. Distraction. 

Like today.

I am burning alive, completely on fire. 

And - true to rule # 2 - no one and nothing cares. 

No one can or wants to be with me while I burn. But I guess, they don't know. They don't hear me lay aside my pride to ask for their presence, like the therapist suggested. Because my own water supply just isn't enough today. And I am too much for everyone today. Too much. Always. 

And, because well meaning folks, they don't know better. And when the fire is raging, it's hard to find a voice loud enough to cry for help. Maybe I didn't ask for it right.

The only one calling me back is an IPA and the phone alarm I set for laundry.

That and the thoughts again - I am not worth it. I am not worth the effort. Who am I to deserve that kind of love or support? From them let alone myself? I was not meant for this.

I don't want to type the other thoughts. They make me want to seriously quit on normal life and check myself in somewhere with drugs that dull it all away.

I am my mother's daughter. But. I DON'T WANT TO QUIT. All threads to hang on to are fucking loose. So I'm scratching out clumps of my scalp and using my own hair. The blood makes it too slick to get a good grip though. I want to get through this.

Maybe I need to hit rock bottom like I did as a teenager. Then, I'll realize I am all I've got. I'm strong enough. Maybe stronger, when I think about it. I've lived through fucking hell, through looking at the edge too sharp to be that close to flesh.

If I did it at 16, I can do it again, but fucking better - hell maybe this time I don't need to hit the bottom. I just need to hit myself in the temple and remember how much shit I've gone through.