Self Destruction

Sometimes the need of self-destruction is greater than the urge to live. Sometimes I crave for all my boundaries to come crumbling down and for the walls of my reality to become blurred with the fantasies my demons have helped create. Perhaps using the word fantasies is somewhat odd, but I find that they are indeed fantasies. There’s something so liberating about the idea of becoming so unlike yourself and losing all your wit and senses, running down the street like a crazy person, breaking things, attacking people you love, burning down building after building. I have moments where I want to do all these things, but I know the consequences will be too big of a burden upon my weary shoulders. The more I inflict self-destruction, the more I will have to maintain it, you can’t just be crazy for the day and then normal the next. So I live these ‘fantasises’ in my head, I day dream about losing the plot, getting sectioned, attempting suicide, committing murder, pretty much being a little shit. Then I snap out of it as soon as I go under. What good would all these things do? One thing will lead to another and before I know it there will be no turning back. I don’t want to explore these feelings in reality, but reality is fast becoming a boring notion.