As I burn another page

Blood death and carnage. After watching L'ennemi Intime at Kino (the alternative movie theater in Lund) I walked out with rage boiling in my body, tears pushing behind my eyes, and a heart bursting and breaking in the seams from all the unhuman emotion. That has all passed now, but it lasted the whole bustrip here. Why. Why the fuck do we fucking kill each other. And I also thought of: physical wounds heal really fast, we are resilient. As I always have said; it's the soul that needs saving. Mental wounds can bleed forever. So why is it that I keep bleeding? Why can't I sow myself shut, like they did the lock-in-syndrome guy's eyes while he watched the thread tred in and out of his eyelid, slowly closing it, making it dark. Why. When people are killed, when their families are killed, why do I wound myself on purpose? To feel? To be seen? To be heard? "You don't know me, you don't even care". The main character's blind anger engulfed me and I thought: It's every man for himself out there. I don't have to save fucking anyone. See, that's exactly my problem, that I have to save so many people. I see them, and I want to make them feel better, about themselves, about life. I want to get underneath their skin, crack their freaking walls, break them down and make them live and appreciate and love. Tell them they are wonderful, amazing and beautiful. Make them smile. But why. Why do I have to do that? No one is fucking doing it for me, so why do I feel this burden to save every sad soul out there? Why do I feel I'm letting people down when I can't save them? Isn't it every man for himself? Aren't we supposed to think we are kings, enjoy life, love ourselves and give shit about others self-esteem? Because the people that feel like that, and I know some, are leading much healthier, happier, funnier lives than the others who constantly keep wounding themselves by telling themselves they are worthless, by cutting their white skin, by self-loathing, by drugs, by destructive behaviour, by reckless sex, by hate, by anger, by fear... They hate themselves, and so they keep hurting themselves and others. I actually worked up so much hate during the bustrip that I had to go out in the living room and do 20 pushups and 50 situps. And I haven't done that since I had anorexia. What is freaking happening here. And why is so many hurting and why can't anyone save them. Why can't I save them? As I said, it has all passed now. But I'm still in a panic rush. A panic rush about life, exams, what I'm doing, and actually about get thinner. Which scares me a little. But this will all probably just go out in the sand like everything else. Tomorrow I will be with friendsd, I will drink, laugh and enjoy life as usual. Then scary thoughts have no way of catching up with me and they will have retreated to a darker place in my soul that barely anyone gets to see ever. Only here. Only on a blog. And here I have no idea who is reading it. But I guess that doesn't matter. I just need to get the thoughts out there, somwhere, so they will become less frightening. It's like with nightmares: my dad always told me that if you tell your nightmare to someone, it becomes less scary. So that is what I am doing.