Thursday, October 04, 2007

1 Year, 42 Days

Tonight I find myself bouncing off invisible walls.

Now I have taken the little white pill and the tiny yellow one. Maybe now I can sleep. I can’t breathe and feel like I want to cry but I can’t get there, my body won’t let me unravel, it has bound itself up so tightly in preservation.

Sleep has evaded me for nights now. I am being jolted awake as soon as my eyes close or my body uncoils as to let go. Erratic behaviour prevails in an action that I find myself unable to stop both during the night and day. I am embedded in a restlessness that leaves me shaking and fearful. I feel manic. I am terrified that this is it – the end, the time where daylight will cease to exist and all there will be will be dark. It’s going to swallow me up. Munch.

I keep seeing things that aren’t there – my wits have gone. The little fuckers crawl across my arm or vanish through the cracks in the floorboard, dashing behind the couch when I turn my head, before I can catch them. I want to scratch my face, I want to pull and tear and dig hollows in my cheeks and neck. I want to damage it all so very badly. I want the noise in my head to stop and the shouting to end. She won’t stop shouting. Tonight she is yelling at the top of her lungs. She wants me to destroy my life, she wants me to smash and break and scream and throw. She wants to take me under, with her. She wants me to let go and fall into the arms of another lover.

I used to find solace in writing, and tonight I find myself looking for the friend I once had in these pages. I can’t feel it – I can’t get at it. So scared am I that I have lost it, the one friend I had, the one person who made it all OK. I rack my brains to try to pinpoint where I left off. Trying to find the connection again and to stop these damn walls from rejecting me over and over and over again as I try to feel concrete against my back. To look back would be cheating.

The need to sort and straighten is rampant and comes in the form of physical pain. My veins hurt because it all feels wrong, my surroundings, my head, moving forward, staying still; it all hurts. The air has been sucked out of my lungs and the pressure has been applied to my chest, twisting like a flower in the screws of a flower press. Perhaps the blessed flaying will begin - just to extract the veins, mind. They are next to get rid of, I know it - “If I don’t how else will the aching stop?”

I remember one thing: A moment with my Friday Counsellor, last week or possibly the week before. I think she had asked me how I felt I treated myself. I had replied; “Badly”.

It stopped me then as it stops me now. What a terrible, terrible thought. Almost unforgivable.


Blogger MasterQ said...

Even when you don't feel it helps, it does.

7:12 pm  

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