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Pleasingly Numb

The Thoughts have returned,
more powerful than ever this time,
and I cannot resist.

Sitting in this chair,
muscles clenched,
I am shaking,
and tears prick at my eyes.
A cry of anguish –
a cross between a whimper and a yell
escapes my lips,
and I curl up in the fetal position,
my fingers clutching, pulling
at my hair.

My breathing is rapid,
and every muscle aches.

I must…I must!
****!!!
Frantically I search the drawer
until I find it.

Relieved, I clutch the knife in my hand,
tight, never wanting to let go.

My mind burns with memories
and I long to see the blood,
to feel the sharp burst of pain
once again.

But I mustn’t.

Sitting hunched,
my teeth grate
and my knuckles whiten
around the hilt.

I yell, the pressure too much,
and throw the scintillating toy down
in a lucid moment of defiance.
Desperately, I grope for a pen

And now I write…

But glancing over the page,
the words are inadequate –
I can see it lying there,
Beckoning, Taunting.

It happened…
The words tear mercilessly through my mind.

IT HAPPENED, and all the ****ING writing in the world
won’t change that…

****.

I want to cry
but I can’t…
My fingers clenching and unclenching sporadically,
I twist and thrash in the chair,
every nerve on end,
the aggravation building.
Intermittently, I pull at my hair,
my breathing ragged.

IT ****ING HAPPENED!!!

I throw my hands in the air,
a mix of frustration, sorrow, rage, confusion.
Clasping them behind my neck
I shut my eyes tight,
trying to block these Thoughts.

But they will not be silenced.
My hand trembles as I write,
and I push harder, harder on the pen,
craving physical release.

Oh ****…OH ****!

The tension builds,
and I look around for something to destroy,
but the voice in my head
tells me it is wrong.

And now the hands,
tearing at the hair again;
I rock back and forth in the chair…
I pound relentlessly on my pillow,
and more then ever, I want the knife,
my fingernails scraping repeatedly down my arms.

I pick it up, and in both hands, I hold it,
and I am still a moment.

I think again,
If I was completely numb,
I could never be hurt.

Then suddenly, in a wave, the sorrow is gone
forced away, as I feel my body
filling with anger, rage and hate.

Contemptibly, I fling the tool down.

But I am angry only at myself,
for it is all I know
that is legitimate.

I hate myself for trusting,
and believing,

and feeling.

I hate my naivety…
and in a flash,
I want to be shallow and sadistic.
I want to feel nothing
but hate.

Because hate
allows no pain.

And as my stomach knots,
and my storm of emotions battle confusedly,
my face no longer contorts.

It is expressionless.

For as the smiling pictures on my walls
jeer tormentingly,
The word ‘forever’
is indefinitely abolished from my vocabulary,
and I stare vacantly, hollow.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ SensitiveSoAbused