Drowning in a Stream of Unconsciousness

Unconscious: According to Freud, a reservoir of mostly unacceptable thoughts, wishes, feelings, and memories.

It's not your fault...

Then why do I feel this way? Why do I feel like I've messed up, or, rather, more precisely, fucked up? Why do I just want to crawl into an isolated hole and die? Why do I keep beating myself up over this? I want to keep beating myself up until I'm covered with bruises and I lose all feeling... Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so bad. Maybe then I can have an excuse to cry.

I hate this. Being weak. Making myself vulnerable. Not being able to concentrate because some proverbial devil is sitting my shoulder, pouring poison into my ear. "You've fucked up," he says. "And you know it. It's no one's fault but your own. And you know it. You've done this to yourself." And I know it. I know, I know, I want to scream back. I want to scream so loud that I shake the very foundations. But I can't. I'm too weak to fight back or say anything. The devil laughs in triumph and dances in the mind of the defeated girl.

I've lost. Not because I wasn't good enough. Not because someone else deserved the win. I've lost because I was too weak to finish.

Saddened? Of course. Ashamed? A little. Depressed? Never. Tomorrow is a new day with which the past can be erased.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.