Sunday, 14 March 2010

I am an island.

I'm not doing very well, I haven't been doing well for weeks but it's catching up on me, it's getting more intense. But I don't think I'm depressed. I'm verging on manic, but not in the normal way- normal mania is fun. Say what you want, but I swear it's a party- it's a buzz in the way that New York is a buzz. Mania is the feeling of being 6 and finally ripping a Barbie doll from the box, after for-ev-errrr of trying to get through the awkward metal twisty things. Of yes- New York. Well, that's what mania usually is. Now, mania is the title for the feeling of laying awake because you're scared of the house setting on fire and being buried alive and being kidnapped and not getting a new bike for Christmas and your parents being killed and your mum finding out that you broke that plate and getting fewer than 17 out of 20 right on your spelling test. It's the breathless worry, the sped up thoughts, the burning pain in the pit of your stomach. It's not depression, that's an entirely different beast- this is fastfastfast and depression is like wading through treacle. I feel explosive, but with none of the fierce excitement and thirst for the beauty of the world that I usually get. I... destruction, destruction is intrinsic in this, I think. I'm not wording any of this well, I'm finding it hard. I can't express myself at all right now, I hoped that writing would help.

But it's not, it's not, it's not.

I don't recognise myself right now. I don't even recognise how I sound and how I act. I'm shrill, and my sentences make no sense. I don't answer the questions you ask- conversation is impossible a task to attempt, with me. I have this really horrible laugh, different from my usual (horrible, granted) explosive laugh. My laugh now is like nails on a chalkboard, it's so fake and forced and so cold that it physically makes me shudder. I just don't care about anything anybody has to say, and if I smile it's because I am imagining horrible things. Happening to you, to me... Or just abstract horrible things. I am not going to act on them, that's not what this is about. But I'm usually, so... I am nice, it's true. I am loud, I am arrogant but I am nice- that is who I am. But I can't be right now, I just don't care. I am turning down things that I know, logically, I'd have loved to have done weeks or months ago. Because I can't imagine the point in doing that crap, in subjecting myself to you, and you to me. I am an island.

A large island, that's the other thing. I am so swollen that I am actually disfigured, everywhere. I am above my 'scary weight', meaning I am fatter than I have been in a very, very long time. Years.

I don't know this face or this body or this mind.

1 comment:

  1. I know your face, i know your body and i know your mind. Each and every single one of the above, is just as beautiful as the first day i saw it. You are managing to convince yourself that this weight youre at is not good and that its not an ED 'not good.' Well love, newsflash. It IS an ED badness. Its all just so deep inside your mind that everything is still so painful and still so raw and yet everything is nothing. Nothing is everything. OKay, talk about not making shitting sense.

    You make the absolute perfect-est sense to me. I get what you mean. I hate that this is how youre feeling and i hate that this is how they're letting you feel. SOMETHING needs to get sorted out, and quick. I am sick of bangles being left on the fucking backburner. I am sick of them leaving us until were dehydrated or we have a heart attack and die. I am sick of us being the inferior disorder. They all fucking hurt just as much. We hurt just as much as the next unlucky bastard.

    My angel, i love you so much. You know i do. I love you more than i could ever even vocalise. You mean the moon, the stars and the sun. You mean everything. You and LK right, youre my fucking rocks. You support me all the time. Youre always there for others, in one way or another. Let us just be there for you. Please? I beg you.

    Want to be penpals? OMG lets do penpals?

    I know youre better on paper, youre better on keys. You and speaking are not the best of combinations when you're in a place like this. When youre in such a horrid, scary shithole.

    Gosh Miss Rebecca Condom, i really love you. I really REALLY do.