Saturday, September 4, 2010
I was wrong.
Everything is exactly the same. There's no sudden bursts of inspiration. No brilliant ideas at three in the morning. Maybe I haven't given it enough time. My thoughts are consumed. Consumed with objects . Consumed with obsessions on new phones that kick my current phone's ass. You know; dumb, pointless shit. I've always been insightful. I can't help but feel kidnapped. Like my soul was robbed of its true self. And I know I've got soul because I just feel so cloudy lately. Not like when you have a cold. This is different. This is worse. I'd call it death, but I'm pretty sure death feels just like home, the way you feel when you're falling asleep. This is... torture.
You're in this really gorgeous place. A place you always wanted to go. Maybe it's France, maybe it's Rome. Maybe it's a place that doesn't even exist. The point is, you're there. Only you can't see it. You feel it. You hear it. But you can't see it. So you can't make you're way around, you can't enjoy it. Can't get the full experience. Why can't you see it? There's thick fog everywhere. And it's only there for you. It's only in your way. Now I have a question for you: How the fuck do you get rid of it?
I can't breathe. I do what I love. What I'm good at, what I'm passionate about. And it just isn't the same. I'm not in there 100% and so the outcome is just empty. I'm always looking forward to something. And it just seems that when the day finally arrives, the excitement lasts significantly less than all the waiting did. I'm sure there's something wrong with that. I do what I tell others to do; find the little things that make you happy, make you feel like a kid again. For me that's lollipops, long baths, being alone and talking to myself. How much of that do I need to do before it makes a difference?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad at all. I'm just sort of numb. You know when they numb you at the dentist, or the hospital, and they do what they gotta do? You feel it, but it doesn't hurt. That's what I'm talking about. I'm dragging my feet through life like I got weights on my ankles, because frankly, not feeling anything is exhausting. When something I've been waiting for happens, my brain says "Be happy! Get excited!" the message doesn't really get through. I don't feel that skip in my heart, that flutter in my stomach, that rush in my veins. I'm kinda reading a book about a character I don't really care about.
Maybe I'm having trouble processing reality. Maybe it just doesn't hit me. But I know I'm capable. I know it because the one time it does hit me is when it comes to love. That, I feel full force. Love, I get high off of. So I can feel. Just not when it comes to my own self. Do I not think I'm important?
I refuse to believe I need pills! I functioned perfectly fine before them. And I was a cutter, but I wasn't the type of cutter who did it to feel real. I did it because I felt way too much emotion. Ah, and now I don't feel enough. Ironic. I ask myself, "are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?"
What I'd give to feel again.
Maybe I need yoga.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I told you I have a cycle. And in that cycle I go through phases. So what phase am I in now? I'm in the one where I take a step back and really look at my life. How it's going, what I'm doing with it, asking myself if I'm satisfied or happy.
I have to say, honestly, no, I'm not satisfied. I'm not happy. I'm not even entirely myself. Sure with my meds my anger has gone way way down. But what about everything else? I never had anxiety so bad in my life before. Yeah I was always morbidly afraid of death. And I even believed that in the black space of my apartment at night there were ghosts lingering. But never did I think the train was going to tip over, or that a drunk driver would come from nowhere and run into me. I wasn't afraid someone would blow the subway up or that a plane would spontaneously fall onto my building. Life was manageable, I think. I know my coping wasn't the best. I've got scars that I had to explain to my boyfriend when we were still getting to know each other. And probably one day I'll have to explain them to my children. How am I going to do that?
I use to be an angry girl, yes. I hurt my cat. I broke everything around me. I hurt myself. I turned red, and screamed 'till it hurt. But I had something. I had creativity. There's a quote that says creativity is a mental illness. Aren't all the creative geniuses at least a little mad? I use to write poetry a couple of times a week. I use to come up with these ideas, and create things. I made up a board game, I wrote short stories, and I even started on a novel at one point. I had a happy place. My own LaLa land. I haven't written a poem since I've been on meds. I haven't created anything, and my LaLa land is just not as vivid as it used to be. I use to love the rush as the train passed by me. I liked to feel the wind. It gave me adrenaline. I use to wake up at 9AM and be out of my house by 1. If it was 3:00 and I was still home, it felt like my whole day was over. Summers of drinking quarter waters, sitting on the steps with my best friend and clowning around, screaming, not giving a damn about how anyone perceived me. That was the LIFE.
I know - I just know - It's the meds. Prozac, Seroquel, Depakote, Lexapro, Welbutrin, Abilify, they've all silenced me. Sucked out all the creative juices and dried them up. I know. I know, just get off the meds, right? Not so fast buddy. I mentioned to my psychiatrist that I wanted to get off, and she said "No. Absolutely not. That's out of the question. No." So I have this little plan; I'm weaning myself off dear old Lexa little by little. I complained enough about Abilify (it silenced the voices but I was having panic attacks every time I boarded the subway) that she took me off of it. So it's just me and fifty mg's of Lex. (That's because I've cut 'em in half with my trusty dusty pill cutter) I should be cutting that fifty in half soon, taking it for another month, until finally I'm taking nothing. If my psychiatrist finds out, she will have me committed.
No more shivering on the train out of fear, no more throwing on just any outfit (I use to put myself together VERY nicely down to the rings, earrings, and cute little belts. My hair had to match the outfit too, or it was all screwed up). No more fucking waking up at four in the afternoon and doing literally nothing all day long.
I have to take back my life. I'd rather be insane and happy than subdued and sleeping all day long, getting nothing done, hating myself, and pretty much not living. I want to go out and look at something incredible and rush home to create my own little masterpiece. I want to have Ideas flowing through my mind knocking so loud that I can't sleep, that I just have to turn on the light and write out the entire plan. I fucking miss that, you know? I'm fully prepared to deal with the down side - new symptoms like hearing shit that's not there, and fighting the temptation to cut, to smoke. All that other stuff. I'm willing to just learn how to live with it, isn't that why I'm in therapy?
People in my life think because I'm tiny and don't make any sense that they have to take over for me and make decisions for me. But I'm perfectly capable. I know when I need help, I know when to ask for that help. No, if I ever want to move out of mami's house and raise a family, I've got to start taking control right now.
It's your life, kid. What are you gonna do?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Sunday, October 5, 2008
No reason to turn when you're left in the dark
As the prophecy states, you will pay for the sins of those before you
Creul and unusual, I know
What once filled you up was stolen in the blink of an eye. Maybe faster.
It's hollow to say the least
And dart after dart piercing where there's still feeling left
Happiness is fleeting
A mere fish hook
The Devil's bait
How it enslaves you
A lush for sweet sweet poison
Far worse than the damage crank would cause
Pure, love is, 'till they breathe their bitter rancid breath on it
Like new fallen snow violated by feet.
Forever does not exist for us
To 'be' dead
Can't 'be' anything if you're extinct.
And what is instinct for if we cannot escape death?
We're not here for a reason. We're just here. And then we expire.
Yet another lie.
Bad is bound to happen.
Happiness is fleeting
for it disturbs the natural order of things.
Happiness is fleeting
And life is a
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Begging that it wasn't time
But she couldn't hear the cries through the noise of the crimson
And the sharpness of the pitch black room mocked her
while she held out a small light
to focus on the task at hand
The sound of the Earth spinning on its axis
She finally hears and recognizes the voice
'NO!' is her own soul
But by then
The light is out
Monday, August 4, 2008
I never said forever
And you made no promises
It was short lived, so I guess I'm
But then again
Isn't that was girls do?
We were both nervous, despite the
we had in sharing personal information
But I went in with hopes that I finally got it right
And you went in with caution, so as not to repeat past outcomes
It was a risk for both of us
Those days are gone;
The random public smiles at the thought of you
Did you ever get those?
This situation wasn't so black and white
I attempt to accept the terms.
And I don't bother speaking to you
That would be pointless, since I know what your response will be
And as far as your lack of something to say
I hear you loud and clear