you can always tell when i'm off meds.
i miss them.
i need them? shit. i'm reading blogs/articles/books/anything. hand over my face sometimes. drunk sometimes. cigarettes back in my life again. where is that elusive a ha moment.
hm... everything is ok right now. hands out in front of me as i move forward, waiting for obstacles to touch my fingers, but so far there is only air. still. calm before the storm and all that right?
sigh. quick fast lungs full of air sigh.
it is impossible to self medicate this feeling. i don't think i have it in me to sell my body for drugs and i like the soft buzz from drinking like a normal person. my other addiction is so taboo i get anxiety just thinking about the screaming consequences of it so i think i should steer clear of it for a while.
[oh how i would love to take a tv, the internet, a bag full of clothes, razors, candy, and marty and just move into a sweet, cold cave]
the past few months i've been admitted twice. called begging in the middle of the night, considerably belligerent, sad, crying, talking to the woman on the other end of 911 and telling her i just can't fucking do this. thinking of that deep blackness inside of me at those moments. it makes me cringe. it felt like i could actually do it. and it frightened me so much that like a small child i reached out. pressed the 3 numbers and hoped for the best. both times ending up in handcuffs in the back of police cars.
medicated and trying to talk to doctors while they try to shuffle me out.
god bless america.
i can barely function when i'm crashing. and i have to get health insurance for anyone to give me more than two days worth of help.
i remember the doctor telling me "haven't we seen you before" and i just let my mouth curl.
and now i'm thinking of all this... father's day and whatnot.
that fucking anxiety ripping through me because i just HAD to call and hear his voice.
[what's wrong with me.]
this person, this boy, father of my [ ] child.
look, i'm trying to move on here. i don't even know why i'm trying to explain, i don't have to. i'm just saying. this isn't some tiny thing that happened and now i can't get over it. this is the fault line of life wrenching and twisting apart.
i repeat, whatever.
it could be any situation though. all i know is that i'm dizzy and sick with anxiety and a rushing brain. and all i want is some goddamn pills to make it just STOP for two seconds.
no money.... no sweet calm.
it's ok, i'm working again, reading, painting, i have these people in my house who watch me. like a small masochistic toddler.
it's ok. it's ok. it better be ok.
pills, please (that same old diseased feeling)
your required .när'sĭ-sĭz'əm. at 11:10 PM
Labels: disorders and that black feeling, pills and wishful thinking, the cops talked about what to eat for breakfast while i cried in the backseat