After pouring my heart out, I was forced into limbo again. However, this time, it isn't as disorientating. After all, I've been in this void for years. I had almost escaped, and with my final push to break the ceiling and taste freedom, I was forced to recoil back into the endless mist. I'm disturbed to have failed. Even writing this already has brought tears to my eyes. It is extremely hard to express this mental and emotional prison I've been in. I keep thinking if I was just given one chance to bleed with color, scream from the soul, unleash my untamed mind, dance with the lights, and allow my tongue to move freely... I would then finally be fulfilled. As I grow older, I am losing hope that I will ever have the chance. The facade I must keep up keeps me away from my deepest passions, and I see no escape from this. There is one person that I would recklessly do just about anything to be with, and yet... He makes me feel like I'm nothing.
Oh, I can't blame him entirely. I don't think he can even fucking comprehend it. Who can understand this madness? Not always, but I tend to be attracted to rather apathetic and stoic men. Not only do I find it inspiring to make their souls come alive with color, but I see their lack of emotions as strength. So, if I was to ooze with emotion and passion, they could be my unwavering ground. There is one big problem with this... while they are completely able to love and become impassioned, they don't GET it, are scared to grasp it, or their version of it is very deluded while I'm transcended.
I think that is what happened. I confessed the fires of my heart and mind, and a lot of that was reflected back to me; I was told that the feelings were mutual. It put me on cloud nine, but now back to a few lackluster messages a day, I'm stunned at how this is feeling is 'mutual'. I've even thrown some hints out there to deepen a conversation, and he won't bite.
So, what the fuck is the point?
How could he FEEL THE SAME... and be so... bland? Because he doesn't feel the same. He doesn't FEEL like me in general.
Even though I confessed so much, I feel like I'm holding my breath around him. I want to tell him how I'm still BURNING how... I STILL NEED PEACE. How... I'D[RETRACTED]..
................
I hate that I'm like this. - This is bad, this is wrong, but I can't stop it.
I hate how this man has been tearing me apart for years by doing NOTHING.
I hate it. I hate it. I HATE IT!
HE MAKES ME SO SICK!
He can sit there, play video games, and hang out with his friends, while I'm ready to claw off my face just waiting for him to ANSWER ME!!!!
THIS IS NOT MUTUAL!!!!!
The only way I can express this to him will make me seem like a crazed burden, then he really won't talk to me. But... why would he say those things if he has little to no yearning to connect with me?
I don't consider this person an evil man by a long shot. He has done plenty of good in his life, and I feel like the biggest issue is that we process emotions differently. HOWEVER... there is one thing that I'm paranoid about.
I've off and on have talked to others about this issue. I remember a guy who I'd describe as a womanizer. We became friends oddly enough out of his failure to woo me. I saw right through him, and he was quite surprised. However, I didn't want to believe what he said, but he had a perspective I didn't have. He warned me that some guys just want to know that they can 'get a girl'. That is all they need to feel good. While he spoke of it in a selfish way, it could be, but I can see the guy of my past feeling satisfied just knowing that I do have feelings for him, especially since I know no one in their sane mind could EVER match me. What also concerns me is that the night I confessed everything, when I asked him why he had pulled away, he said because he wanted to feel 'wanted'. If I had a chair to throw in that moment, I probably would have. I NEVER STOPPED WANTING HIM. To want to feel even more wanted by ME is insanity. He knows I have issues with obsession, but I do mask it or I'd be annoying and illogical. Wtf though.
I am happy that we are talking a bit each day, but I'm living off of crumbs. We have been in this situation before. I used to communicate that the distance between us bothered me, and he would be compassionate for nothing to change. Then, I bottle it up until I explode, and that gives him a valid reason to turn his back on me. It is the same fucking pattern every time, and I feel it nearing since I can feel my seas starting to BOIL. I'm gonna fucking snap and ruin the little bit I have since he won't give me MORE. He might be unhappy about where I am in life, a reason why we can't be together, but I would risk almost everything for him if he showed me serious depths.
I don't know what to do.
I want peace with him and the past.
Why can't he just give me his love?
I had a dream about him.
I told him, and yet he didn't even ask what it was about...
We watched two moons collide while our bodies were tangled as one.
The surreal scene unfolding was a reminder that I cannot have him in reality. I can only have him in fantasy.
Writing Sample
[I write mostly in PMs, so decided to start sharing some more of my writing in my journal for samples]
Blackwood Institution
Where sick and healthy minds deteriorate
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At Blackwood Institution, there were stories of success. A handful of patients who were labeled as irredeemable were able to reintegrate back into society thanks to the diligence of the staff at Blackwood. Some high-profile criminals had publicly thanked Blackwood for giving them a chance for a fresh start. Due to this, Blackwood Institution received an increase in funds and a boost in reputation over the last few years due to these publicized success stories, but not many actually knew much about the institution. Hidden away in the remote and dense Highland Forest, where outsiders were far and few, Blackwood was more than just a mental institution; to many, it was a prison. Sure, it was better than regular prison, but not by much. Usually, the most troubled minds in the country found themselves staying in Blackwood. The specialized facility housed around a hundred patients.
With funding, a comfortable number of patients for the large facility, a good reputation, and a polished website, it was easy to assume that Blackwood Institution was a beautiful place for sick minds, but that was far from the truth. It was one reason why the interview process was handled off-property. All the money went into Derick Walton's pockets, the director of Blackwood, who hadn't stepped foot in the building in 8 years. Since then, the institution had rapidly decreased in cleanliness and safety. However, it was still doable. It was not to the level of being considered deplorable, but it was surely on that path with its peeling paint, dusty floors, strange smells, and flickering lights.
There were many famed criminals mixed in the rather small population. One of these patients was Lyra Holt. A woman who was brought to Blackwood just a few years ago, that was failing to make much progress. She hardly opened up, leaving many therapists and doctors to see her as little more than a black hole. Sure, she could have a simple conversation, but when personal questions were asked, all she would do was stare blankly at the other with an eerie smile.
All that was really known about the woman was what came from police reports and court. Those dark details had the woman rightfully red-flagged in almost every system. Even when transported to other rooms, she was kept cuffed. At times, even during recreational time,. However, over the last year or so, 'good behavior' allowed her a bit more freedom to talk with other patients. It all seemed to be going well, but Lyra was a calculative woman. Under the nose of staff, Lyra had quietly taken control of most of the east wing by banding with others of her level and earning but the fear and respect of her 'peers'. That coldness in her eyes, the way she whispered violence dripped with honey, Lyra had power beyond the physical.
Every time Avery Lovett had Lyra's patient sheet come up, she knew she was in for a doozy.
Patient Information
> Name: Lyra Holt > Birthday: 11/6 (27) > Sex: Female > Height: 5'6" > Hair: Dark Brown > Eyes: Hazel > Admitted: 6/3 (Three Years Ago) > Key Charges: First Degree Murder (X6) - Second Degree Murder (X2) - Attempted Murder Against Law Enforcement (x3) > Mental Conditions: Unknown; patient refuses to talk. Based on criminal background. look out for Antisocial Personality Disorder, Psychosis, and Paraphilia > Notes: Lyra Holt has been accused of having even more victims, but police are still trying to build a case. She appears stable and charming but has strong sadistic desires toward humans, especially women. She has shown little change since she arrived at Blackwood. If anything, she appears to be becoming more restless by the day. > Medication: None due to lack of official diagnosis. > Threat Level: 5(1-5 system)
Unless something like a sickness or injury came up, Lyra came in once a week for a general check-up. It was usually just to make sure her vitals were good, and it gave Lyra the chance to bring up any health concerns she had. Due to the lack of visitors, it wasn't very often any patient got sick, but there was a time when Lyra was dealing with chronic headaches.
Unable to sleep and exhausted from pain, Avery showed kindness to Lyra. They worked together to try different methods to cure her headaches, with icepacks, medicine, and tips on temple massages, and eventually, they put two and two together that with how hot her wing had been in the summer months, Lyra was suffering from dehydration. She had tried to drink more, staff still wasn't giving her enough water until Avery put in the word. It was a simple fix, but Lyra didn't look at Avery the same way. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her general care, and after dealing with so much pain, it was Avery who saved her from it. It was just a spark, and that was all that was needed for Lyra to turn it into a wildfire.
Even some of the nearby patients picked up on the fact that Lyra kept finding excuses to be sent to the nurse. If she was sent to an alternative nurse, Lyra would demand to see or wait for Avery. At first, this was allowed. If a difficult patient trusted a member of staff for once, it was seen as a positive, but eventually, it became excessive. She had even started to claw and bite at her own flesh just to have something Avery could tend to. At that point, the head nurse put Lyra into a meeting, saying that she was no longer allowed to see Avery. That if she was to hurt herself, she would need to wait unless it was life-threatening. To say that Lyra was pissed would be an understatement, and it would inspire her to strike revenge.
Blackwood was not ready for Lyra's revenge. Working with four other patients that she knew had a stomach for violence and control, they would take over the facility at a frightening pace. First, Jace, a big man in his mid-30s who was charged with killing his entire family by burning down his mouth for life and home insurance money, had dramatically pretended to pass out during recreation, knowing that it was the day that a petite female guard would be on duty. Leaving Evan, a man in his twenties who hacked into many donations accounts to support obscure extremist groups, stepped up as the hero to help his fallen peer. When the guard attempted to call for help, Evan reassured her that instead of dragging someone all the way over here, he could easily help carry the probably just dehydrated Jace to the medical wing. It wasn't far. So, he did exactly that.
So stupid... The patients were alone. However, most of them just kept playing board games, reading, and staring at the flickering TV, but Lyra and two other females did not. They casually follow after the guard and two men.
"Go," Lyra breathed under her breath, and a woman with short, light brown hair and an athletic build named Zoe dashed up behind the guard. Right when they went by the security room on their way to the medical wing, Zoe would attack. With a blunt, overextended twist of the guard's neck, Zoe would SNAP her neck, leaving the guard dead or paralyzed. Evan would take the guard's keys and ID card, and use it to get into the security room. He would use his knowledge and experience to disable cameras, phone lines, wifi, and sirens, but they would keep the general power on for now. Evan would guard the security room, making sure to drag the body with him for god knows what other than to not trigger panic while the rest would continue with their predetermined plans.
Zoe would take the east wing, Jace would go west, and Amy would take the gun off the guard and head south, leaving Lyra going north toward the medical wing. For the staff, it was normal for wifi to go out, or maybe the phone lines to act up a bit, since they were in a remote area. They probably wouldn't think much of it as a small hiccup, but the four patients all had detailed plans that would continue to unfold as every minute passed. They would secure the wings through violence, locked doors, and recruiting patients they liked/thought would be helpful. They would indulge in their sick desires, knowing that even if they got out of this place, it was now or never to indulge.
The dark-haired woman at the front desk, Ann, of the medical wing, looked annoyed as she stared at her outdated computer screen. She looked at Lyra over the frames of her glasses. "We are having problems with the system, we can't see you right now." She blinked. "Hey, where is your guard?" Ann always had a bad habit. She always kept her scissors and letter openers on her desk. Lyra knew since... every time she checked in to try to see Avery, they were right there and she had an eye for spotting weapons. Lyra wouldn't say anything, and abruptly took the metal scissors, and slammed them into the center of Ann's throat. Blood proceeded to gush all over Ann's desk.
Lyra took in the look of shock on Ann's face as she tried to gasp for air. "I've never seen you so... beautiful." The woman fell out of her seat to the side, bleeding to death while stunned. The killer bit her own lower lip, her adrenaline was going. Keeping the bloody scissors and grabbing the letter opener as a just-in-case, Lyra slipped down the hall, where the short-staffed wing only had one nurse on duty on Wednesdays, Avery.
With blood dripping off the scissors, Lyra would leave behind a faint trail of blood on the floor and on the thin white pants of her gown set. Usually, she would do a better job of watching her tracks, but she was fixated, and no one was going to get in her way. She trusted that her fellow deviants would secure the area and have fun doing it, while Lyra had a chance to focus on her target. The girl that had been tapping at her brain, the girl that had been haunting her dreams, the girl she kept seeing when her hand slipped between her thighs in the shower.
Lyra had to see her again, and... SHE HAD TO BE ELIMINATED.
There would be a knock at the door. "Avery.~ I NEED to see you." She had to know that voice. It had to be an emergency, Lyra was not allowed to see Avery. She would look down at her hand, which was red with someone else's blood. She lied, her voice faintly trembling in excitement, "I cut myself on accident during arts and crafts." Chances were Lyra probably did it herself, like she had done in the past just to get to the medical wing.
Why don't they like me? Why can't I stop thinking about them?
Should I be writing an entry about this? Probably not. My childhood matters little to anyone here, and maybe it should be private. Again, as I try to untangle myself from all that I've become, I feel both alone and confused. So, I like to share and also try to express myself. Is this weird? Probably, but again, I don't care. I'm silenced or limited nearly everywhere in my life, so I will write.
Let's get straight to the point, I was diagnosed with OCD at a young age. I didn't have many obvious compulsions, so my therapist explained to my mother and I that it was "Pure-O OCD" (It is an interesting spin on OCD if you never heard of it). At the time, I was there since obsessive thinking was tearing me apart, I also was forming unhealthy connections with stuffed animals, watching the same movie a trillion times in a row, having an extreme anxious-attachment-style to my mother, and so on.
At the time, what was most distressing was mostly tied to fears. I couldn't stop thinking and freaking myself out. It was enough that my mom felt the need to find me professional help as a kid. I couldn't look at a knife without my mind getting fixated on violence (in a scary way. I didn't actually want to be violent). I had sleepless nights thinking a robber was going to break in, and I was worried everyone I loved was dying. I was also having terrible nightmares despite not being exposed to violence. People eating people, being cooked alive, and so on. I had all these dark intrusive and obsessive thoughts while still in elementary school. It got to the point where I was isolating. Nothing that could be used as a weapon could be near me, and other than going to school, I did not want to leave the house. Everything was perceived as a threat to me. It had gotten so bad, I even got my brain scanned, as the issues seemed beyond psychological. In a way it was. I had OCD, but I had a never-ending infection that exaggerated the symptoms that wouldn't change until I took a bunch of medicine. Going into those details would be boring, but the bottom line is, that it set my foundation and made it clear I was really dealing with mental illness. My mother would be supportive at first, but tired of dealing with my illness, she would often punish me hard for my obsessions and emotions which really ended up fucking me up pretty bad down the line. To this day, I still have not forgiven her, since my whole life has been nothing but torment between my own mind and the chaos she brought into my life (maybe a story for another day).
Luckily, I could start using scissors again without picturing them being stabbed into someone's eyes, but the obsessive thinking never really stopped. I was always worried that I or someone I loved was dying or would get hurt. That they would be taken away from me, that I would be alone.
When I started to become attracted to people, my obsessive thinking showed a new face:
"Mooooom, Kaylie doesn't want to be friends with me! I keep asking her!"
"Sweetie, you can't ask people to be friends. It just happens naturally."
"I'm a nice girl! She should want to be friends with me. I keep asking and asking! She is being mean!"
"Why would you want a friend who is mean?"
"Because she is so pretty, mom!!!"
[I would then realize many years later that I was actually bisexual, and Kaylie was my first crush.]
Kaylie was a pretty blonde, and I couldn't tell you why I was so fixated on her at that age, but I was. All I can remember was that I wanted to be friends with her since she was pretty and cool. I proceeded to shamelessly and cluelessly harass her for at least an entire school year. I'd follow her around, and she would literally run from me. It felt terrible. It made me feel like I was some kind of infectious disease she had to get away from, but it never stopped me. I NEEDED her to accept me and like me back.
This would get a bit insane...
I have a vivid memory of finding her by her locker. I was trying to talk to her, and she ignored me as she usually did. I didn't see anything I was doing as wrong, since I literally just wanted to be friends with her. Well, while I was trying to strike up a conversation, she suddenly slammed her locker door on my fucking fingers. I could see the look of deep anger on her face. I didn't move my hand. I had felt like it was some kind of test, and I would prove my loyalty. I let her do it again, and again, and the last time, she held it down forcibly as if trying to break off my fingers with a wild look in her eyes. At that point, I could no longer 'prove' myself.
It wasn't a test; it was an attack.
I had left her alone after that but still admired her from afar.
Too bad I didn't learn my lesson. This pattern continued. I became fixated on a boy who rejected me every day. It became something I was bullied and known for; how much I liked this guy who wanted nothing to do with me. I'd harass him as well. Mostly followed him and tried to talk to him. I was too young to realize how cringe and inappropriate I was being.
I'd regularly write him love letters that he would TEAR UP IN FRONT OF MY FACE
instead of reading.
But it never stopped me from writing another one.
I just... couldn't take no for an answer. Finding out he was 'dating' someone else had torn me apart and forced me to find another fixation.
That was on a boy who lived a few blocks away from me. He was my friend, but when I started to develop feelings for him, again, they were not returned. There was another girl he liked, and our personalities were pretty night and day. He at least mostly treated me with respect, even though I was secretly attempting to CURSE this other girl with my new interest in the spiritual and magical. He didn't question me much when he saw me outside his home trying to get a glimpse of him (what was wrong with me?) Before this other girl was in the picture, I did more or less force him to go to one of those silly spring dances with me. I planned it well, asking him in front of his mom knowing he would feel more pressure to not upset his friend that he had known for years. Under pressure, he agreed but didn't show. I spent the whole dance looking for him, shattered. We branched off some but we reconnected right before high school graduation as he still only lived right down the street. Both of us were then in serious relationships. We were sitting alone outside a few days before he was to move out of the country.
"Hey, after all these years, why is it that you never even gave me a chance? I mean, I'm over it. We were so young then."
"I've always liked having you as a friend, and honestly didn't want to risk it. You are very attractive, but I could tell that you would love in a way I wasn't ready for and may never be capable of handling. It scared me."
I had expected a generic response. He often said I simply wasn't his type, and I couldn't entirely disagree. I have seen the personality type he was attracted to, and it wasn't me. Still, his actual response was eye-opening. It wasn't my appearance or even my personality. It was that intensity. The obsession.
I proceeded to continue my pattern but with more foresight. I wasn't harassing people, but I was still pretty dumb. I needed a lot of reassurance and would send messages and call a few too many times... I would overlook so many red flags and sacrifice far too much. It all leads to a part of my life that I can't get myself to write even in this unhinged journal of mine. Certain parts of my life are repressed, and I struggle to even tap into it since I don't want to acknowledge them as true. Maybe one day...
In the end, with age, experience, wisdom, and self-awareness, I mostly keep to myself and train my brain away from obsessive thinking. I'll allow it some for sexual thoughts, as it helps me cope, but I'm not trying to be a menace or drive myself insane in a terrible way. I've also developed a fear of my own obsession, so if I feel it coming on, chances are I will run away... fast. At the same time, this is how I am. This is how I love. This is how I connect. THIS IS WHO I AM.
You are my daydream, you are my nightmare
You are what breaks me, feelings I can't bear
I'll keep trying, and I'll keep trying
Till the day I die
You are my fantasy, a perfect illusion
When in reality it's just my delusion
I'll keep crying, and I'll keep crying
Till the day I die
Oh, I can't define this pain inside
My soul is shattered and my heart is tied
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