Explanations

Well, this is my first real blog, not completely sure how to start. I guess I'll explain my blog title, "Reflections of Insanity." Most people would probably see that and think I'm a pretentious ass, full of himself and his problems, trying to worm fear and respect by claiming madness. Not entirely so. In truth, I look in the mirror day to day and see something much different than most people. I see a facade, an outwardly happy, outgoing exterior concealing constant struggle between sanity and a pulsing rage and hatred. And don't misunderstand, I am in nature a good man, a kind man, and I have many virtues. I love to help people, I find joy in hard, honest labor, I love my son, my family, and I want nothing more than to be happy in life. And then there’s the man in the mirror, laughing at me in my moments of vanity as I prepare for work, to go out, to receive company. He's there, always, a source of horrid urges and desires. Chief among these is the want to be violent. There have been countless times when around others (anyone) when I've felt the need to hit them, cut them, stab, punch, bite. And elaborate fantasies play out in my mind. I can see my self beating them senseless, feel the joy of it, the thrill of it. And that voice just urging me on, to go ahead, just let go. It happens with my friends, my family, random strangers, old ladies, children. Sometimes I want nothing more than to smash someone’s head repeatedly into the ground until there is only mush, until my hands break.

I find myself pushed towards destruction, both physical and metaphorical. To rend structures and locales asunder, to shatter the relationships around me, to take for myself just to have and then to throw away. And its an endless battle. Every once and a great while I lose control. I attack my closest friend over a pathetic issue. I intruded on relationships, step away from my own. Months ago, left alone by my family, I had only a handful of friends left, co-workers and fellow Marines who just wanted to cheer me up. I paid them back by acting as the focal point of a bloody, near deadly brawl I remember nothing of.

I urge to hurt myself. Always have. I try to push myself physically, causing my body to ache and then raging at my own weakness, pushing harder in response. I crave power. I crave strength, agility, skill. I'm disgusted at how weak i am.

I look in the mirror and laugh. i can see him. I can see me. I am weak. Not compared to others. I could, and would willingly, best most that came before me. And I so long for the berserk state of mind I find myself in during a fight. There is no control anymore. Only the next movement, the next strike, the next glorious injury and blood shed, theirs or mine.

But then its back to me again. I'm perfectly pleasant, I'm charming, and rather vain. I'd dare say I'm quite attractive. I'm easy going, and make friends without problem.

And then its back to me. I see all your flaws upon meeting. You every action disgust me, your demeanor offends me. I long for a reason to show you the error of your ways, to make you bleed and laugh at you pain.

I'm a man, walking through life one day at a time. I have hopes and dreams, future aspirations filled with comfort and happiness.

I'm a monster, chain and barred, fighting for a way out, looking for control, plotting vicious conquest, .

I'm so confused, so undecided, so afraid. Why am I back here again, in my home town? Why did I fall backward, lose my grip on my future, my focus, my drive? Because I don't know who I am anymore, I don't know want I want. I try to stay busy, stay numb, stay unfocused, to lose myself in the fantasy of video games and books, to work as hard as possible at my job, keeping my mind busy, stemming the anger.

The doctors told me I have Borderline Personality Disorder. They told me its not so surprising that with my whole life crashing down around me, with my grip on reality slipping, and my sanity eroding, that I hit tried to cross that threshold. It’s understandable that I hanged myself. That I hung there unconscious for nearly an hour and didn't die. They said they'd help me get better, gave me the drugs, locked me up. I got out, quit the meds, the therapy, and moved on.

But how do you deal with the deepening darkness, that impending doom of death as your consciousness fades, and in that moment of terror you realize you’re about to die? And how do you get over that laughter, that cackle of you own voice as it says "You were always so weak."

I don't know what else to say, I didn't mean for any of this to even come out. I don't think I should post this. None of you can understand this. It is not a mood swing; it is not a serotonin disorder. It’s like something grew inside me over the years, to protect me from pain, to help me grow stronger, but lost its purpose. I feel like it’s getting worse, like I'm going to destroy everything around me.

I just want to be happy; I just want to be loved, to love. Why do I have to want these other things, to need them? Why do I have to hate myself? Why does my reflection look like my enemy?