It happened again tonight.

And times like these are what make me question why I even fight to continue to live. This isn’t who I want to be, this isn’t who I present myself as; this is the person I’ve worked so hard to leave behind.

And again, I’ve failed.

I have prayed to see the days where I lose control fall far behind me. I have worked endlessly and tirelessly through therapy, workbooks, skill sets, self development books, support groups, Bible studies, and damn near everything you could possibly think of to overcome this, and I still fall short. It makes me wonder if there is anything I’m doing right, if there is anything about this hell that will ever change. The battle is always uphill and I am constantly outnumbered by the cannons my brain fires day in and day out.

And here I sit, sobbing again on my bed, having yelled and screamed until my throat is sore and my voice is hoarse. Bits and pieces of belongings that were hurled around the room in a fit of rage lie on the floor. My knuckles are bruised and I’m certain those aren’t the only wounds that will have appeared when the sun rises in a few short hours.

I lost control. Again. It’s neverending. The rage consumes me. And the harder I fight it, the harder it fights back. Or so it seems.

And what scares me the most is knowing how little control I actually have.

And here I sit, feeling sorry but unable to utter those words.

And I wonder how much longer it will be until I bring my own world down around me.

And all I want is for it to end.

And this is why I spend most of my days wanting to die.

And this is why I hate myself with every bit of my being.

This is my hell. I’m stuck on repeat.