last night something possessed me to beat the shit out of myself while lying in bed. there are several large residual bumps on my scalp, but they don't hurt unless i touch them to estimate how hard exactly i must have been hitting. i tried to resist cutting in a vain effort to escape an explanation of the physically obvious alterations on my skin to my partner, but the fact that i couldn't stop really scares me. then i had an image of my old abuser laughing, like even though he's hundreds of miles away and years behind me, his influence on my life is still ongoing.

i have been obsessing over not cutting for about a month. ever since i moved in with my partner, since i have more to lose than he does in a breakup, something suspicious has been growing inside of me.  i don't believe in monogamy for life, i don't believe in marriage or the atomic family. i know we won't be together forever, but i cannot tolerate the thought of him leaving.

every day it gets worse. i push him away in an effort to take control over my emotions, and he reciprocally pulls away, and we are stuck in a weird feeding frenzy off of each other's reciprocal energy.

this is the first mutual romantic relationship i've ever had, and inside i know that i am raging and regurgitating years of abuse and neglect into a black tar tea that is too strong to swallow.

i don't deserve him.

i don't deserve this tiny life that i am squandering.

i guess you could argue, "well, who does?"

i want to rebel. this society, american society, white, supremacist, imperialist, capitalist society, has created a place where women are meant to languish and perish. but YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT I'M NOTHING; I AM HERE. the evidence:

the breath that i breathe smells sour. the callouses forged on drumsticks are peeling and the bitten down nails scratch on snare rolls. the bed that i lie on stays warm even after i'm gone because the fire inside me is so communicable that it is registered as endemic. the gray hairs collect like dandelion whispers.

and the bad poetry stains every eye that reads this.

i am oscillating between wanting to kill myself and acting like a terrified dog in a corner, afraid of making a mistake in any direction. i don't remember the last time it hurt this badly, just existing.

i need to go back to a therapist, because the rage and terror are too much for my friends right now. i don't see a time when this will be a non-issue, and i can't live like this for the rest of my life. all i repeat over and over, when my breath is heavy from the onslaught of fists to body, is "hold on. holdonholdonholdon, oh please hold on."

i am trying to learn how to talk to him when i am so tender. the adrenaline from an averted fight pushes me to explain what is going on inside of my brain. i think he believes me, but i don't know how long he will want this kind of interaction; when he will give up. even though i fear the rage inside, even though i think i might understand the real qualities of demonic possession, i am not a monster. i do not want him to feel what i'm feeling, to take away his safe space. when can i talk about it if he says that i should? where is the balance, that he might not be traumatized by the amount of hate in my head?

that might be belittling his character. but this is part of the force that exists just to tell me that i don't have a right to.  i always forget: change the language. change the dialogue in your head.

today i went into the basement to grab something and noticed that my roomate had hung a little hand made banner across the low ceiling. it says, "you belong in the world."

remember this and hold on.