Ow shit.
This really fucking hurts.
Ah fuck!
FUCK Fucking hell I hate this, I hate you all fucks fucking
ARGH
I hate being in this skin, I hate being in this machine.
This fucking machine.
FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU
And bam! bam! the machine rackets like tin, and I'll keep fucking hitting
It yells bam! bam! and I'm gonna hurt this machine like it keeps fucking
hurting me.
FUCK
I can't describe the pain, it's agonising. This machine with it's millions of tiny tiny needles, tiny, superfast needles.
You can't see them, they move so fast, that in their frame of reference, the world is completely static. The way a bullet might see it's victim, all the time it's travelling, throughout it's entire journey, stood, gobsmacked, unmoving.
I mean, I'm screaming, I'm writhing and I'm fucking lashing out, bam! bam! at this machine, but to those needles, I'm perfectly still, and they're wondering how brave I can be to just lie back and take all this.
Click click click click bam! bam! click click click
They click when they unhinge and thread into me, like one big sewing machine and i'm the cloth.
FUCK
Sometimes they hit a nerve, scrape the bone, and it really goes to you.
Through you. God. FUCKING FUCK.
I'm gonna kill myself I swear. If I need to go through anymore of this. I don't care, I'm sorry but I really fucking don't care, at this moment, I could traumatise all of you, I could really fucking throw myself of a fucking building and have myself blown up so that a little bit of me splattered each of your houses, if that's what it would take.
ARGH FUCK
I can't take this anymore

Oh yeah.
"That's all now Mr Kennedy"
It stops now.
For now.
Shuffle shuffle shuffle go the nurses, and I curl up and cry, just for a little while.
Only it doesn't stop, because that machine and it's fucking needles will be on my skin for hours, days, until my next appointment. They stay with you, those superthin superfast needles. All over you, their deep throbs and sharp bites stay with you forever, as long as you're alive, because as long as you have appointments, you have needles, and as long as you're alive, you have appointments.
And the nurses shuffle and stay all busy as they do. And I cry. And I'm bleeding from all over, tiny dots, dotlets really. A million of them, and they gather into dots, then spots. And if you've been unlucky, they gather till they run, and the nurses wipe you down, roughhouse you. And I'm bleeding from all over. Under my nails and my gums, behind my eyes, the base of my skull, my nipples, balls, any place you could think to hurt.
I don't think I'll ever stop crying.
The best thing about these appointments is curling up into a ball and crying, it's in no way any compensation for all that fucking pain, but at least I can cry at the end.

They're random appointments, random appointments for your entire life, from the moment you're born. They have this cylinder right, I think it's the same one for everyone, and it's thick and tinny, sounds loud when a session is in, and they're banging the sides in all fucking agony. The needles shoot from these millions, billions of tiny holes in the machine, superthin and superfast, and from the metal board you lie on, and the whole thing goes on for about a half hour, though the times may vary from appointment to appointment. Besides that there's not really all else I can say, the nurses
shuffle along their business, and afterwards, you cry and go home to do whatever the fuck it is you do.
They're completely and utterly random, whenever the case maybe, it could take weeks, maybe just hours, till the next time you get taken. They take you, there's always the truck outside wherever you are, they do it there. Trying to escape is futile as they say. They'll come, and they'll just take you. Some people a lot more than others. Some people go through their lives happy as fuck, gormless and stupid, because they don't get taken.
But it happens to most people, and happens most to some people.
Some people die, take their own lives, they have too many appointments and
they can't take it.
No one has ever died during an appointment.
I'm considering it, I get a lot of appointments. And I know you all care and I'm sorry. I know some of you love me, and I'm so fucking sorry. And I know some of you have these appointments and you're so much fucking stronger than me, and I'm sorry you have them too.
Some people just accept it, not with indifference so much, it's just become that shitty part of their lives. Some say it will all go away someday, people are always saying how they've had less and less appointments, how it's getting better. Then they'll say there's more and more and they just can't take it. Really it's always just the same, we just seem to have these appointments our entire lives. I'm sure that there are some people who have had them often and who're having less and less probably wake up one morning and never have them again. There probably are cases like that, but I don't know any. Only the ones were people pretend they have them, would like to think they have them.
Yeah, it's true, some people are just so empty and desperate, they justify it all with these appointments that they don't have themselves. But it all usually stops soon enough, it's hard work disappearing for an hour, they can never get 'taken' in public, being there's no one to take them. Some ask friends to 'take' them, dress up in the appropriate jet black spandex-looking suits, like ninjas, head and face covered too, and break into school or work or home and 'take' them. But you can tell the difference. The people who come for us are quick and silent. Well, like ninjas I suppose. Though that does trivialise the whole ordeal and for a minute I'm laughing through my heavy wet sobs.
Ninjas take us.
I keep laughing.
'Where'd you go last night?'
'Ninja trouble'
'Aah.'
I keep laughing.
And jerking, heavy wet sobs.

We get taken, kicking and screaming, we get put in the machine, the door closed, and stuck with needles till the door is again filled with a nurses face, and it's "that's all now Mr Whoanwho".
Anyone can get taken, kids, the elderly, celebrities, couples, parents and children. A lot of musicians sing about it, people write books about it, a lot of people have to take therapy, like me, if it happens too much, and a lot of people, like me, self harm if it happens to much.
Yeah, it seems silly, downright stupid, to cure pain with pain. But it's like all week there's this itch, this horrible painful itch of all these needles, usually it's straight after an appointment, and I need to scratch.
I use a razor.

I lied before too.
It's not completely and utterly random, it doesn't happen if you sleep, no one gets woken up for an appointment. You can have them first thing in a morning, but as long as you're asleep, you're safe.
That's why I like sleep so much. Even though I keep having nightmares about the appointments, especially lately, I prefer to sleep, it's as safe as I can be.
There's also some things that help me. I seem less likely to be taken if I'm busy with something, distracted with something, or maybe having fun with friends. Although, for me, personally, it's more likely to happen around people. This isn't the way with most people I talk to, but for me, people seem to attract appointments.

No one really likes to talk about them either, no one wants to hear a complainer, that's why therapy is so popular. Though everyone hates therapists. People tell me their therapist blames them for the appointments, that the way their therapists see it 'if it happens to you more than most people, you must be doing something wrong'. My therapists have never been so .. well, mean. Though they've never been really all that helpful. No one really has.

And, well, this is the point really, it's not something I can stop, it's not all in my mind, it's very fucking real, it's very fucking tangible. And don't you fucking tell me while I'm in that machine that it'll get better, that it's the way I think, the way I act, and don't you fucking dare tell me, while I can feel my body on fire in what is only pure fucking misery, that I bring it on myself, or that 'it's nothing really, if i think about it'. My ex was someone I'm pretty sure pretended, and when she 'stopped getting taken', she blamed me for my being taken. She shouted at me, why couldn't I be like her? Why couldn't I just 'cheer up?'
Oh, fuck you. Oh fuck you so fucking fucking
ARGH SHIT
PLEASE NO
OH FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU bam! bam! bam!
The bastards I'm crying. The fucking bastards have locked me back in.
FUCK!
Oh god this is horrible, I don't want it anymore, life anymore, I'm still bleeding from five minutes ago, and all the scars on my body, or therapy, or medication, or fucking anything won't stop the simple fact that I'll be put in this machine for the rest of my life. I've tried, I've tried everything, I've tried all my life, all my fucking life, everything anyone says, and still, all my life, I get put in this machine. THIS FUCKING MACHINE.
And it's all I ever think about, I think 'what does it want from me?' 'why is it doing this?' and I never get any closer to stopping them.
These appointments.
These fucking appointments.
These horrible, fucking, horr-
And I'm sobbing again, big wet heavy sobs.
I give up, I just want to die, I hate this, I hate being me for having to suffer this all the fucking time.
Fuck it, fuck you.
Ow shit.
Argh fuck.
Click click click click click click click click click click click click
click cli...........................................