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18:09 Aug 16 2022
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Evermore does the cycle continue.
Man, after man, of various flavors: confident, docile, assertive, poor, rich. No matter who it is, the knife slides in all the same. Am I truly damned to a life a siren who takes nothing more than time and wounds in memories of times past? It brings me no ego. It brings me no relief. Yet still, no matter whose heart is in my grasp, it will fall from trembling fingers onto hard flooring.
I've come to believe I've inherited Bipolar. My heart does not ring in the cruelness of my actions, instead I weep helplessly as my own arm strikes down in anger, fear, and paranoia of someone I spent months to years loving. What else could it be, if not that of bipolar or some similar mental flaw? Or, is there something of evilness within me and if so, why does it target me as well?
I wish my therapist would have remembered my name.
I wish my therapist would have remembered our appointments.
I wish that when I tried, someone would have given a damn.
Instead. Still I bring suffering to those I love.
I had hoped years ago, that in time, with age, my mind would be easier to understand. Only the opposite has happened.
I sit here alone crying for someone to give a damn, as I leave behind me a trail of people who did.
Perhaps it is not bipolar. Perhaps it is self-hatred. Perhaps it is the demons of my mind to keep myself from love, from kindness.
I've done it again.
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