Running with Scissors

Here's an essay of a rant I wrote just trying to keep some desperate perspective before I really tear myself apart.

Some days I swear I'm just gonna explode. I can feel stress and gravity tear me apart along the lines of addiction. It's always so insidious, when it shows up I always, always mistake it for something else. Some minor happening that it uses as a cataclysmic excuse to try to destroy me. It always feels the same, though, after I get over the initial pain, I can feel the fractures, the tears, the severing of my being. My mind tears in to the same three, throbbing pieces, as if my brain was cut in half between the hemispheres, and then in half again on the left side. A knotting rupture ripples from my temple to my heart, and then on to my stomach, and it contracts like a tendon designed to pull my body together so that whatever is cutting at me doesn't have to chase down parts of me that would otherwise fly off. I hate this, I hate how it feels, how it hurts, how it hurts people I care about as my personality falls, sundered like a condemned man before a firing squad. If this happened any other time than when my brain was waking up neuroreceptor factories, I'd seek pharmaceutical assistance. I'd think I was schizophrenic, at best. Bipolar/borderline/MPD at worst. Fighting it is pointless, but I always get drawn in to a fight before I realize what my opponent really is. I feel sick in the head, chemicals coming on-line in random order make you think weird thoughts, say weird things. Right now I just want to cry, it's the only real form of protest I have available to me. The worst part is that my body knows a way to fix my mind, tape myself back together so I can function properly. It costs about four dollars, and is available on most street corners and grocery stores in America. I knew this was coming, but I got lazy. I got careless. I thought that the ease of the first few stages of withdrawal meant this wouldn't happen. Even now, it's trying to use that feeling of self-disappointment to sink it's claws in and cut me open a new wound or two. FUCK why the hell does this hit me so hard? Why do I end up just like a goddamn heroin addict?! Why the hell are these things legal? Why won't anybody stand up for us? Why won't anybody stand up for me? My only solace is that this won't last long. It might be a couple days, but, soon I'll be able to think again. Soon I'll be able to look in a mirror without wondering who that wild-eyed stranger glaring back at me is. Soon I'll be able to talk to my friends without crushing them under the weight of my need. It's so hard to not hate myself right now. The tiny thread keeping me aloft is knowing that this isn't real. This pain will pass. The grief, the anger, the dependency, is all illusory. I know nicotine is one of the most addictive substances on earth, and nobody has an easy time of quitting once they're physically addicted, but I feel so alone, so isolated, just like always. Now it's trying to prey upon my loneliness. Fucking sick monster, just leave me alone. Just leave me alone. I feel so stupid for allowing this addiction to get me again, after I went through this before. The one person who promised to be strong for me didn't realize what I was asking, and if I was any weaker than I already am, this addiction would poison my mind against anyone who couldn't handle me right now. At least I'm not that far gone, not like last time. There will be no collapse of my world, it's just getting bashed up pretty good. I wish I could sleep.

Might have to hit myself in the head with a hammer to get any peace.