I want to hurt myself or hurt anyone.
I think about chucking a hammer at someone's head,
or slitting someone's throat from behind.
I think about jabbing a knife in my neck,
or crushing someone’s skull.
I think about burning someone alive,
or poisoning them with bleach.
They don't have to do anything to me,
they don't have to say anything to me;
they could do nice things for me,
they could say nice things to me.
And I just think about hurting them,
over and over I think about hurting them;
and the thoughts get stronger,
and it’s so hard to fight them.
And I feel like I might go on a killing spree,
and in the moment it feels so right;
like it’s what I’m supposed to do,
a hunger pain I need to fill.
With ****** and blood and screaming,
their screams in my mind;
only make me laugh.
It feels like my mind is possessed.
These thoughts are all disturbed,
then they subside until it’s time;
for them to come back again,
and I’m always left feeling confused and frightened.
It’s a struggle fighting these thoughts everyday,
it’s a struggle “pretending” they aren’t there.
It’s a struggle “lying” to everyone and myself,
it’s a struggle hiding;
it’s a struggle stuffing these sick thoughts
back into my deranged brain.
And no one can make it better,
no arrangement of words makes a difference.
I get tired trying to explain my suffering to the ignorant.
But still I want them to know,
and I don’t want to sugar coat the dark and ****;
because my mind only forces me to hate them.
I want to spit the gross truth in their faces.
I want to smother their minds with demented thoughts,
I want them to feel despair;
I want them to suffer too.
I want them to know, I want them to be scared.
I want them to be uncomfortable,
I want them to hurt;
then I wouldn't have to explain.
Because I don’t need pity,
pity can’t fix me;
pity is useless.
I need to write, I need to create, I need to express.
I need to be able to speak about my demons,
without someone judging me or being afraid of me;
or treating me as if I all I am is my thoughts.
Because I’m more afraid then they are.
I’m more terrified of my own thoughts,
especially when these thoughts don’t feel like my own.
And If my thoughts are not my own, then whose are they?
I want these thoughts to go away...
This isn't exactly a poem, but it's something I had to get out. My will is stronger than my thoughts. But I am diagnosed Bipolar 1 with psychotic features, and intrusive thoughts are very real and can be scary sometimes.