Good Morning

I think I like being awake in the morning because I do not like being left out of things. What happens if something happens and I'm not awake for it? I think this is kind of funny--in a painfully sad way.

Thanks Diabetes!

Wake up with a headache. Is it a hangover?  Panic. Dread. Irrational fears of alcoholism.

Check blood sugar. 155? Hyperglycemia! Not a hangover!

Thanks Diabetes!

The End

Are you ever so afraid of what you might do that you give up? I am about to do that right now. Because I can't trust myself. I wonder If I ever will be able to. I don't care. I am getting better. Things used to be worse. Things used to be unbearable. That one time when I drank myself to sleep. Except it wasn't to sleep. It was to vomit, into the bathroom sink. That was unbearable.

Why am I afraid?

I have not done anything wrong.

But I am thinking about doing things that may not be "acceptable." 

And even though I never would, I am the type of person who sees "never" as a challenge. And "I never would" becomes "I probably should"--I commit an act, socially reprehensible--and  I can no longer stand to see myself anymore. I stop looking in mirrors when I brush my teeth. I can't stand to know myself anymore. I watch my favorite movies and I drink my way into the protagonist. I stop brushing my teeth. I lay in bed for three days. Time stops. Self loathing discolors the entire world. 

Don't send me back to that place. I can't. I can't. You don't understand.

In light of what could happen, giving up seems like a healthy alternative. Kill motivation. You'd never win anyway. I'd never win anyway. I never win anyway.

I am sure that there will come a day when these proactive decisions I make are no longer necessary. I am sure that eventually I will be surrounded by people who are as confused by how people operate as I am. 

Maybe they will listen to me. Maybe people will actually notice when I disappear for three days. 

They never will. No one ever notices.

Fuck being acceptable to a system that never accepted me anyway.

I'll still give up, though. You're welcome. See you never. 

And in a few weeks, all this chaos in my head will be buried out of my consciousness, never to be exhumed by me. But maybe you'll dig it up--I hope on accident; I hope you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. For a week you'll think that these feelings are grand and how could I have ever lived not like this? Colors will be brighter, words will be purer, life will be lovelier than you could have ever imagined. Have ever imagined. I hope you daydream until day's end, while night continues, equally stained by the smiles you always wanted and the notes you never had. I hope you keep laughing: warning others of what has happened here. I hope it drives you beyond polities; I hope it drives you mad.

Not Know Life

One of the women speaking at this conference said something really interesting and it struck me that this was my childhood:

"It is possible to research life for years, and not know life at all."

Gaining vantage points behind swing sets, sifting into the back of busy classes, listening to other children's conversations. Engaged, without ever saying much. Not shy. Just confused. Testing theories. Examine other children. Determine if I could ever be like them.

Aphasia

I can no longer trust myself.

There are words forming that I do not know yet.

But I keep speaking.

Shut up.

Keep running,
kept running away from this, knocking into walls, compressing lungs into throat.
Stop talking stop talking.

I can no longer trust you.

Keep running until the stars in the sky fade over the horizon,
until the sun blocks out everything else I could ever see with my eyes.

I do not want to harm you.

Let me hurt you by telling you what it was that made me.

Keep running until the wood thrush caws,
until the chorus frogs stop rasping in their pond.

My legs are stilts, melting into the marsh's floodplain.
Desire and fear are the blackgrass I keep getting stuck in.

Faked/Forced Emotion

I began to cry. It's such a weird action... but then again I was low on sleep and cranked on caffeine. I had been stressed all day. Stress. How unusual for me. And so I began to cry, not for any reason in particular. Or maybe there was a reason. Maybe the reason was minute and being so close to breaking allowed that reason to overwhelm me. Capable of showing emotions as varied as a soap opera, incapable of feeling anything but sadness and neutrality. Sadly, I found something to be sad about, so I went about assuming that I'd always be alone. Not single. Being single is not something to be saddenned by. I can't allow myself to cry about something like that. No. Being alone. Isolated. truly alone. How many more nights in my life would end up like this? I cannot begin to explain how terrifying this loneliness is. I used to think that being invisible sucked. No. This is much worse. So I cried. Well, not so much cried as tossed about. A seizure almost, my legs kicking, arms grasping, body twisting and turning and keeling. But as I yelled "it doesn't make any sense. why won't it end?" under my breath under sheats, I realized there weren't any tears on my face. My voice was dulled by my constricting throat but there were no... tears. And it occured to me that I didn't have a source for my crying.
So I tested my blood sugar.
I was hypoglycemic.
NOT depressed.
Thanks diabetes.

Brain Chemistry Demands...

Sautéing in the hormones of hypoglycemia, it becomes paramount for this--something anything oh god just this one thing--to happen.

Screaming in the Darkness

I had nothing to be angry at so I was angry at myself. No one caused this, so it must have been an intrinsic problem. Even so, I didn't know I could scream so loudly. I was good at being loud, but how many decibels was I forcing out of my larynx? My head bowed into the steering wheel and my car shook, either because I had lost sight of the road or because the increased pressure in between my ears had caused the entire world to lose its steadiness.

I scared myself. Even with the radio playing at maximum value I could hear my voice. I scream in a steady A, if I had to guess. You could tune to it. I guarantee. And it was not like anything I had ever heard before. I hate screaming. I have PTSD when it comes to screaming. I see Han Solo tied up on Cloud City when it comes to screaming. I want to run and never stop running when it comes to screaming. I am loud so I know that no one else will out yell me. I don't want to be as loud as I am, but I do not want anyone to think that they will ever be able to out yell me. They won't. As I see it, the louder person always wins. I don't want to lose again.

And I don't think I ever will. I scared myself with the way my voice stretched itself out, longer than I thought possible, past the point of forced expiratory volume almost. I stopped for a few moments, and then screamed again. Am I pretty? Even if I am not, no one should be able to make such a noise. If such a thing can hide within me, within the small space connecting my lungs and my mouth, than what even more evil things can hide in the dark? In between an all consuming fog? In a friend's otherwise pleasant face?

So I cried. For a scant thirty seconds, but the tears wouldn't evaporate. Even after I had made it off the highway, still they just lingered. I found such an affront insulting, confusing. To feel any emotion besides happiness is wrong. This should not happen to me. But to feel anger and sadness so intense at the same time? That is not right. What would this feeling even be?

To hate oneself so much as to want to end everything--how can a hate be any more involved than that? I hated that I had let myself live in this world where I am constantly trying to make myself into an image that is not naturally me. I have been overly socialized to want to be things I literally can never be. And I hate myself for that. So much so that the only way out seems to end everything. But then I become sad, knowing that no, I will never be able to kill myself, and no, I will never again be capable of suicide. Even the thought of consciously ending my life seemed like a great insult against so many things. What a sham for me to have that option--to live or die--when people I loved had been denied such a thing. People I had loved.

People who deserved love and life far more than me.

People I had loved.

How can I ever stop screaming? I cannot.

And what an idiot was I to think that I could control anything in my life? I can't. Everything that I hate, everything that I want to change, regardless of whether or not they are my fault or arise from external factors, no matter what they are, they will never change. There will always be something to make me unhappy. There will always be the unfairness of it all. And it will never end. And I will never know what to do about it. It will never end. It will never end.

I do not know what is wrong with me, truly wrong. I am depressed, clinically so. But on days like today, when I reach lows that I think shouldn't happen anymore since I've been "treated," my first thought is that somehow it is all my fault. My second thought is that I should hurt myself. But besides losing my voice and scaring myself to death, it is hard for me to find other ways to display hatred for myself. That's the only nice part of being sad I suppose.... it spares you from doing really anything, ever, at all. Tomorrow will always have to come. Not because I want it, but because I can't do anything to stop it.

Every night, when I lay down in darkness, I just only think that tomorrow might be better. And on nights like this, statistically, tomorrow has to be better. That is a comfort. It is the only comfort I get, but usually, it's the only comfort I need.

If you had to ask:

The only two things I strongly dislike about Christianity are:
1) Paternalism
2) Some people sound really brainwashed

Other things, like having to capitalize random words like god, do not actually bother me that much.

I Made A Dress.

Final Identity Crisis

I want to spin out the words, semi-sensical and fast. I want my voice to crescendo and fade away like waves across Lake Michigan, like screams on a roller coaster. I want someone to listen to me for once and be as confused as I am. How did I manage to live like this? Two decades, all the same. Now every day seems so stagnant. I only think of this. I cry. I am confused.

You have to help me. Anything else, I'd gladly do alone:

Push on a tire swing;
Sing myself to sleep.
Run away from home,
Hold memories I can't keep.

I used to think I was brave, but then why this fear?

This is my last battle. After this, the only person to hate will be myself. If that's all there is--self-loathing until my last breath--then maybe you can listen to me for just a short while.
Maybe you'll understand.
Maybe I won't be crazy.
Maybe things will make sense.

Final Identity Crisis

I want to spin out the words, semi-sensical and fast. I want my voice to crescendo and fade away like waves across Lake Michigan, like screams on a roller coaster. I want someone to listen to me for once and be as confused as I am. How did I manage to live like this? Two decades, all the same. Now every day seems so stagnant. I only think of this. I cry. I guess I am confused.

You have to help me figure out who I am, because this is one of the few things I can't do.
Anything else, I'd gladly do alone:

Push on a tire swing;
Sing myself to sleep.
Run away from home,
Holding memories I can't keep.

I used to think I was brave.
But I feel so scared.
Maybe I won't be crazy.
Maybe things will make sense.