Why am I never enough? I tried to conform to what you want me to be, but found that wasn’t who I am. I tried to be smart enough, talented enough, pretty enough, worthy of the air I breathe. Perfect in every way. No matter what I do though it seems I fail.
I slap on a happy face each day, holding everything back all I long to scream. I supress my desires, and for what? To have to supress some more? How long can I keep waiting? How long can I keep pretending to be who you want me to before I crack and break, and the vestiages of what were once me are gone forever?
I have been been beaten bloody and walked through the fires of my own personal hell. I have experienced things no woman should, and still stood strong. But this I don’t know if I can face. I may not like myself most days, but at least I knew who I was. Now I am not so sure. So thank you for that. Thank you for twisting me in knots, destroying my conviction, and not leaving anything behind in your wake. Thanks for reminding me my place is in the muck and the mire, and that I am not worthy to lick your boots. I’d almost forgotten my place.
Something about fictional characters, hoing my plea does not fall on deaf ears, ears that do not exist….
I don’t remember the whole thing and fear I will have to rewrite it, but Cas is worth it
Previously on Supernatural:
“I am your new God, a better one. So you will bow down, and profess your love unto me.”
Dean, Sam and Bobby all look at Castiel in horror.
And then Cas laughs.
“LOLJK. Raphael’s dead, and that’s all I wanted. I’ll release the souls now. I just always wanted to say that.”
And then before the eclipse ends, he puts the souls back into Purgatory.
Dean shakes his head, laughing. “Always one with the dramatics, Cas.”
SUCCESS! I finally got into tumblr! My you were busy little beavers today!
So I have had approximately an hour and half sleep before I gave up the ghost right. Then I remember of fucking fuck-ity fuck fuck I have to go have my head shrunk. OMFC I don’t wanna go, but i throw clothes on and go. Forgot a belt though, and my pants fall down as I wrestle with my laptop and backpack trying to enter her royal highness because of a PhD’s office. Oh well, at least I had underwear on.
So I go in and decide I don’t want to talk about my mom. I don’t really want to talk about anything that is going to shit-tastic my mood. (Warning if you have issues with language you might want to leave.) But SHE wants to talk about my mom’s refusal to talk to me because I quote, I OWE her the conversation. Sorry all I owe you is $50, not sure for what other than ruining a perfectly good day, but there you have it.
So after forcing me to divulge the sorrid tale of my mother’s recent abandonment, she wants me to talk about why I feel God came between us. To which I reply “your god has nothing on mine.” And then refuse to explain that cryptic statement. Then she wants me to discuss how this made me feel. How did my mom up and deciding she wants nothing to do with me unless it is to ball me out or soothe her hurts? Fantastic of course. Kind of like I had my guts ripped out shoved down my throat pulled out my ass and repeated.
How long do I have to pay for things I did as an angry teenager? How many times can i apologize for things I said or did in anger when my anger was justified? I was just as much a victim if not more so. The events that transpired happened to ME not her. So how long can I continue to be held responsible for thinking that the world was caving in and no one cared, when clearly no one did? How much longer can I put on the happy face before I finally fracture completely?
I’m done! I am done pretending the world is alright. I am done silently sitting by and taking hits. But I can’t tell my mom this because she won’t answer my calls.
Then the doctor after riling me up tells me to calm down. That I need to be on medication, that the bipolar is getting the best of me. BULL FUCKING SHIT!. I am stuck on an island separated from everything I love, trying to make the best of things, then what little world I had created comes crashing in on my head trying to obliterate who I am. FUCK YOUR CAS DAMNED DRUGS! I was in a fairly good mood til i had to talk to her ass.
I fucking quit! I don’t want to perform anymore. Fuck your drugs and fuck your god. I am done. Take me or leave me. I’m done being bound by social niceties.
I don’t know if I love or hate this time of night. The world goes silent and I am alone. I don’t mind the quiet, but sometimes the isolation drives me mad; my thoughts only adding to the disquiet. But there is a strange beauty to the dead of night and the madness coalesces into clarity.