blood pumps in these veins

I finally cried tonight. Fought it all day, and the day before, and the day before that... Fought it all week. Didn't let myself cry for a week. And tonight, it just happened. I read one thing. It said this:

'Had a rough day? Don't know what you're doing here? Put your hand on your heart. Feel that? That's a purpose. There's a reason you're here. Don't give up.'

So simple. I put my hand over my heart, and pressed down, and suddenly, there it was. My heart. It was beating. It still is.

I had forgotten I have a heart that beats. I had forgotten.

How do you forget something like that?

So I cried. Because my heart said hello, and how much it had missed me. I missed it too.

We'll get through this. Somehow. Whatever this is.

crazy

Ludicrous.

Do you ever experience that feeling where it's like your brain is going too fast, too slow, caught in quicksand, no, make it jello? Do you ever feel like you're flying by the seat of your pants, even though you aren't moving, you're barely even breathing? Do you ever get to the point that there's this screaming in your head, and you know only you can hear it, but you still cover your ears like that's going to make it any quieter? Like that's going to help at all? You only look as crazy as you feel. You only hope that nobody walks in as you whisper over and over, "SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP", like there's anyone around. You can only hope that eventually the noise will stop, the speeding will slow to the usual monotonous roll you're accustomed to, and that you can go back to being the normal crazy that's dominated your daily existence for what feels like forever. Since before you were born, or even conceived. Like there is no other option, because how could you have ever been even slightly sane, with this kind of obliterating madness annihilating everything you thought was good? HOW CAN THIS BE OKAY? HOW CAN THEY NOT SEE OR HEAR IT?

Do they even care, or are you really this good at pretending, now, that everything's fine, that they truly believe you? Or do they stay ignorant to avoid getting caught up in the whirling hell of your world?

Does anyone notice at all when you're not around? That you're not listening? That you can't, for all the noise and screaming and whispers and terrible events occurring within you? Do they know what it's like? Have they ever gone a day that was an hour that felt like an eternity?

There is no way I'm alone in this. I keep saying it, over and over, and maybe one day that means it could be true. I can't be alone in this. Because alone in madness is worse than any other kind of alone out there. It's binding, it's brutal, and it will destroy every cell of your pathetic, weak, all-too-human body. It will rip to shreds your mind, and throw a needle and dental floss at you, for later, when you might possibly be capable of stitching the pieces back together. It's mocking, taunting, shrill, and cruel. It's something that allows nothing else. It is the distraction; it is tormentor, it is punishment, it is the be-all, end-all. There is nothing else.

It is.

The days and nights bleed together, and I don't know what the hell I'm doing, or where. I have a notion of 'how', but that requires actual determination to follow through with these plans, these ideas, these quaint little notions that I can Be Somebody. That I'm not just some burning out hypocrite encased in make-believe. Even when the fantasy seems better than the reality, I know it's nothing more than a figment of my overly active imagination, and means nothing if I don't put it to some good use.

There's got to be something more to me than meets the eye; there must be more than my reflection. There must be someone home in this body, this shell.

There must be. Now if she'll only answer the fucking door.

Fat, weak wrists.

My hands have been giving me trouble, probably from potassium deficiency... and general malnutrition. The joints, primarily. My fingers will freeze, sort of a momentary paralysis.

I ate, and it's been too long for purging to get anything out of it, but my body still says purgepurgepurge. My face is fat from throwing up so much yesterday. I went to the dentist and as soon as I got back to this empty house, I ate, and threw up, drank a beer, threw up, shot up some drugs, and went to the store to get a big bottle of wine. When I got back, I started drinking, and eating and purging. All day.

It's exhausting.

My teeth are more sensitive than usual over the stomach acids, due to the fact I just got them cleaned. Stupid, really. I know better, but what was I supposed to do, just let the food fester and rot inside of me? I forgot my laxatives, and I don't have many pills to help counteract it. I am out of the good drugs... which is why I'm considering driving a couple hours to go to this show tonight, to dance and rage and get more drugs, so I can stay high.

So what, I'm broke. Being high is more important than being able to afford gas and food. Who needs food when you have good drugs at your disposal?

I've got to do something about this...


Nothing will change. I'm stuck in this familiarity. I don't mind it, until it gets too much. Then, all I can think is what would happen if I left. That seems to be what my family wants me to do. The only problem is, they don't understand the level of my depression, the anxiety, they just don't know how far I've gone. They have no idea what will happen if I do leave.

It'll be over before I begin.

Wow. It's like I just can't help myself.

The fall is a wonderful time of year. The cold is reminding me of that feeling, that cool, familiar feeling, that drives me mad with want.


I'm going mad. Gone.

The chemicals are fresh, constant, and if there's no drugs, then it's the alcohol. If it isn't the alcohol, then I'm in a pit of doom and despair, locked away by my own horrors.

Words circle, they're thinking seriously of kicking me out. They say "get out", they say things like "LEAVE".

They don't understand. They just don't.

Nothing is going to change, not until something momentous happens.

And it hasn't, yet.

Nothing is concrete, nothing set in this stone age. Not for me. Not for you, either.

The days blur and blend. The nights thicken with things better left unsaid. Regret is palpable, anger muted. Fear curls up, familiar, in my lap.

Change is coming. The seasons draw close together, preparing for the cold and darkness.

I don't know if I'm ready. It does not matter.