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Uncontrolled Mental Substance

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When an individual lays out their ‘flaws’ or ‘issues’ all by themselves and realizes they’re actually their own worst enemy and not another is at fault. I find that for myself specifically extremely laughable. Not in a humorous way of course, but because of the self-sabotage that’s been taking place and I’m so oblivious to. Like, I’ve been the answer to my ‘problems’ this entire time? Ffs. So, there’s that.

Fantasy / Romance
Age Rating:

Managing my Uncontrolled Mental Substance

Uncontrolled Mental Substance

You’re so far away.


you’re not.

If I outstretch my arm,

I could touch you.


I want to actually touch you.

Not skim the surface.

Is it me;

that’s far away?

More than arms length.

Night and day;

as they say.

When something becomes heavy mentally;

I carry it physically.

Instead of vocalizing it,

I withdraw.


And only then do I notice it.

My demeanor as a whole towards you has changed,

But, I continuously tell you

that you’ve done nothing wrong.

Tell me,

How’s the whiplash feel?

Once I come around and snap out of it,

Once I’m done compartmentalizing,

It’s too late.

I left you in the cold for too long,

You’ve jarred up.

Lid on tight.

Withdrawn in defense to my indifference,

Then I demand your words.

But, I can’t give that to you,

Why do I deserve yours?

You’re naturally upset at this fact.

Then I rationalize and attempt to repair,

Damage control,

As if this won’t happen again,

You see it from a mile away.

It’s inevitable.

Matter of time.

Matter of fact.

I hate this.

I’m killing us.

I’ve created this cycle:

I project my shortcomings onto you;

as if you’re the one coming up short

I proceed to list in fine detail

what I believe the issue is.

All I’ve done is a lot of pointless babble.

Yes, those things may indeed bother.


they’re not where the issue actually lies.

Only where it casually slumbers.

I need to say where it actually sleeps.

That place where REM is located.

The root source.

I need to relieve myself of the things I make myself carry.

My shoulders are so tense.

From the load I create and make them carry.

I have an issue stating what’s actually on my mind.

I’m terrified of being too much,

I’ve been too much while not wanting to be to much.

Funny, huh?

Irony’s a cruel bitch.

Here’s me,

Miserable at best,

At whose hand?

Ha, my own.

So, it’s me I’m so angry towards?


So, I suppose myself and I should hash this out,

Will you wait while we attempt to reach counsel?

Or rather,

Would you mediate?

I’m going to lead myself to exile while I attempt to find my way out,

Do you follow?

I believe what we mean to say is,

For fucks sakes;

am I so terribly sorry,

I feel so lonely;

because, I choose to sit alone.

I’m so quiet,

but crave communication.

I crave conversation,

but refuse to let a word leave my mouth.

I make myself cry,

but think that shits weak.

I hate being the one doing everything there is to be done,

but yet I volunteer myself and say nothing.

I make me mad.

Not you.

Here’s my deal,

Are you ready for this hot plate of self-induced misery?

I despise the fact that you don’t save me from;


You don’t read my mind and solve my problems.

You don’t give me the scripted reassurance that I sent you telepathically.

You don’t tell me the things I said to myself in my head that I want to hear.

You don’t love me the way I told myself I want to be loved.

You don’t touch me the way

I want to be touched in the moment

I want to be touched that way

I said it to no one.

I said it to me.

I expected you to get all of my nonexistent black post-it’s I mentally leave you.

I look at the empty vase on the bathroom counter,


scream your name in my head,

I curse it,

Because, you didn’t fill it with my favorite flowers.

You didn’t do any of the things I never actually asked.

You didn’t say any of the things I never actually said I wanted.

I swear;

You’re deaf.

You’re blind.

You don’t even know me.

He’s supposed to just know.

I’m so irate he doesn’t just know.

But, I’m not going to say anything,

I’m gonna go ghost for 3 days,

Yeah, that’ll do it.

He’ll figure it out.

That’ll teach em.



He’s only asked what’s wrong 37858362759 times.

He’s only asked what’s on my mind 84857395957 times.

But, he didn’t say, “what’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours, darlin’?”

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

Definitely, fuck that.

I’m laughing while laying this out,

because that’s exactly the way that I think.

I’ve finally laid it out there for you.

I’m the joke,

You can laugh.

It’s insane.

Let this draw you in,

Not push you out.

What am I looking for?

What’s my root deal?

I have a never ending heaviness of never being someone’s enough, never being somebody’s center,

They’re literal everything.

They’re reason for waking up.

I’ve officially watched my last marble roll across the floor


I’ve definitely lost it.

I’m selfish.





Ruthless when I’m upset.

Closed off and awful when I feel I’ve been wronged.

The first to air you’re ‘wrong doings’ and short comings and areas of error,

But admit my own?


What would that accomplish?

I already know what’s wrong with me,

It’s not my fault you don’t.

That’s my way of thinking.

Remember, what I said about cold? Awful?

Yep, there it is.


Could I just simply say -“Hey, I think it’s fucked up when you binge your game for weeks endlessly like nothing else exists and it feels as if you do the physical tasks or events that I ask you to because you feel it’s what I want you to do and enough to keep me at bay from one of my mega melt downs?”

I used to do that.

But now,

I shut this mouth.

I bite that tongue.


Don’t nag all the time. It’s not attractive.

He’ll leave.

Don’t say what bothers you,

He’ll leave.

Don’t be so brutally honest,

He’ll leave.

Just hush up and complete the necessary tasks,

It’s what a good wife would do.

But, uhhh…

Fuckkkkk thatttt.

I can’t.

Not anymore.

You never not one time asked me to do things this way,

My damage did.

This is what I get for dealing with absolutely nothing and putting it into a folder never to be actually filed.


So, once again,


Stirring things up,

I call it being spontaneous,

Mixing it up a bit.


It’s when things upstairs become too much,

I lash out and decide out of impulse,

Because, temporarily that quiets it.

Something new to fixate on.

But, when the rush from that dies down,

I become complacent again.

Sucked into a mindless routine I despise,

Doing all the “what need to be dones and doing what I’m supposed toos”

That shits not my jam.

I need absolutely wild.

Edge of my seat guessing.

Tame and predictable has never been my favorite song.

It’s one that I frequently skip but continuously play on repeat thinking; “Play it again. Maybe, it’ll grow on me”

Delete it from the playlist because it’ll never make the cut man.

I’m only fooling me.

Most of these are obvious to you

Fucking wild.

You let me fall apart.

You let me melt into my 47593649 different colors and run through my 7485739 emotions in 8 seconds and you smile and say;

“What else ya got? I know you’re not done yet. Let’s hear it. Bloody hell, girl, come on then..”

There he is. Ahhh.

The man I married.

What’re you talking about?

I’m fine.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Everything’s fine.

*twirls hair and giggles*


Same time next week then, yeah?

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