Relapse.

Accepting things I don't want to has always been a bit of a struggle for me. I don't suppose I'm alone in this fact, though. No one wants to tell themselves the truth. Fact is, the truth hurts like a bitch. No matter how honest I think I am or say I am or prove I am, there's one person I can always trust myself to lie to. That person is me. People who I trust can throw the obvious out there plain as day and I shelter under anything and everything if it involves me. I'm such a fucking hypocrite. It isn't something I want to be, but I am. I go to sleep each night telling myself there is nothing I can do about who and what I am. I'd give my life to change. I really would.

I'd die to be different.

I'm relapsing, slipping backwards, failing. I didn't want to admit it, but it occurred to me when I woke up that it's all too true. Death has come to plague my mind once again, my dreams are nightmares I can't escape but can't live through. I've died three nights in a row, and that's just the ones I remember. I almost never have this sort of crystal-clarity when recalling what passes through my head when I'm asleep.

Last night, I sent a text to Facebook along the lines of "I'm sorry, I can't live with this anymore. It's time to say goodbye. I love you all, but I just can't keep doing this. Goodnight, goodbye. Forever." At least eight phone calls came in, I was unable to answer any. I was laying in a pool of blood on my bathroom floor. Police officers broke down the door. I died on the way to the hospital.

The night before, I was going for a casual walk in the forest behind my house, for absolutely no reason ... except I had a rope. Next thing I knew, I was hanging from a tree over the river.

The night before, all I can remember is a pool of blood surrounding my head with a bullet hole between my eyes, a gun on the ground next to me.

I can't stop these overly-vivid nightmares, they plague my waking mind and destroy my sleeping one. I'm terrified to fall asleep. I've suppressed the thoughts to follow through with the suggestions coming to me in my sleep, but they're not gone.

I almost feel like I'm being told what to do.

These things I imagine are almost too vivid for me to have reasonably thought of. I'm not one for paranormal or religious bullshit but ... there's something wrong up there. In my head. I hate not knowing things. I hate not being right. It's what I strive to be. Right and knowing. If I could just be those two things, forever ... I'd be just fine. I want to know what the fuck is wrong with me.

I'd kill for an answer. Why am I relapsing, why now, why after six weeks am I falling backwards?

"Just keep coughing, smoke another cigarette. Dream another big dream, just live and regret. So fuck the warning signs, I'm already dead inside. Dying for a feeling, so say goodbye, say goodnight." - Top 5 Addictions by Hidden In Plain View