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insanity

Am I insane? Am I crazy? I want to rip out my hair.  Mad . . . yes, I am going mad.

I am a monster. The horrific things I have done . . . it's unspeakable. I am so afraid. What if I become psycho? Develop a personality or mental disorder? I feel like a raving madman. I spend countless hours internally diagnosing myself, sorting out my problems. Trying to label and correct. I have learned that people often don't develop mental illnesses and personality disorders until their late teens and early twenties. The stresses of moving out, college, and identity struggles will trigger the tendencies that a person may have inside them that have been dormant.

I fear myself. I feel like a monster. I have hurt and permanently damaged people in my life. What if I hurt more people? What if I get out of control? What if I go completely insane? I am so afraid of hurting people. I scream in agony for all that I have already done.

How could this be my life? Why am I the awful person I am? Why did I let myself do these horrible things? I look back with shame and regret. Endless tears. Nothing can be done. People act like I am this wonderful big sister. But I know. I know the horrible person I am. I know the damage I have caused. I am despicable. I cry for my siblings. That pain that I created. What can be done? I am in a sea of misery. I want to turn back time. I want them to wake up and hate me.

They say I'm a good big sister. But I know the truth. It haunts me. I am never enough. I know the wicked things I have done, the pain I have caused, and no amount of good will ever erase it.

I want to run away. I want to run away where I will never hurt anyone ever again.

I want to run to them. I want to apologize, to tell them I'm sorry and I love them and don't ever want to hurt them again. I want to tell them I love them over and over. I want them to feel loved by me.

But it will never be enough. Nothing will ever be enough. I will never be able to take back the incredible pain and damage I caused.

I wish . . . they would stop looking up to me. Stop using me as a "good example." I wish . . . my younger siblings would hate me. I don't want them to model me. I am not a good role model. My inner voice screams inside, "stop! you can't love me! look at all I've done!" I am a bad person. I have never been good. Maybe, at one time, I have done some good. I have been happy. But that was because I forgot. I forgot the unspeakable things I have done. I forgot . . . Oh, God, I forgot . . . but now I remember. I remember all.

And I am a monster.

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