When you write..

Sometimes, when I feel this way I can write for hours. I don't even know what I'm writing about most of the time. My brain has all of these jumbled up ideas, things I feel like I need to explain.
Maybe they'll make more sense if I can see them. Words. Something tangible.
The words are never in the correct places, with the correct spaces or punctuation. They sit on whichever line of the page they please. They follow no logical, chronological rules.
Why should they?
Nothing else does.

Rules mean nothing.

I break the rules all the time. The rules of society, the rules I set myself.
I won't.
I shouldn't.
I will.

It means nothing.

And I hate myself for it. Because it makes me act as though other people mean nothing. Usually, other people mean everything, just not for a long enough period of time. While they're here its fine, they can keep me safe. When they're gone I need a substitute, something else to cover me, to provide a shelter from the words and images spinning around in my head.

Then the words stop. I know there is more to say but my brain freezes up.
I'm done. Don't make me think anymore.
Rant on all you want about feelings and rules and all release the anger you've pent up about other people, release your self loathing, self hatred, self destruction. But don't make me think about why.

We've covered this. We've analysed it. Half of it is a lie anyway.
No excuses. You know why you act the way you do?
Because that's the person you are. Not who you've become.
You know what you're doing, you could stop it if you wanted to.

Could I?
How?

Because no matter how many times I tell myself I won't. I always do.
I start untangling the knot that is my life.
The problem is, as one end of the rope is untangled, instead of coiling it neatly away my hands begin to get anxious, they start fiddling, toying with the fresh rope and before I know it the tangles are back. I'm knotted and muddled and trapped again.