some analogy about swimming (drowning)

Last weekend I blacked out for the second time. It's taken a lifetime, but I really believe now, that I am not in control. Suppression only works when you lock all the doors.

I sit here sometimes, and wave my fists in the air. Write these empowering bullshit letters to myself about how interesting and strong I am and all the things that I might deserve. But I don't feel strong.

I've been in the Midwest for 6 years now. I thought I had outrun the dark imbalance, but I still haven't found my footing. But here's the thing. I'm 32. Will I ever? I have been in this mode of Don't Worry It'll Happen for over a decade, and actually making efforts for the last 5 of those years but.

I'm still just this. Good jobs, friends, a great man. And I can't pull myself above the water long enough to gulp the air and see the skies. I'm still feet below. Haunted by the warmth my fingertips feel above the foam, the sun exists, I need her. Just knowing the atmosphere is really there might have to be enough. I have a vivid imagination.

I am taking steps, I promise. I quit drinking, I am writing again, thinking about drawing. But I'm not working, I have become wary and paranoid of people, I am lashing out at my partner, I am weighted down by this strange winter. I have nothing to give, I can't follow through. I know this.

I feel better for my self awareness, though. Long thoughts in a quiet house have brought me closer to understanding how my madness works. I think about cutting everyday, but I'm doing good, I'm steering clear. The summer was harder, I forgive myself for that. In a constant state of restart, I have to be. Do you know what it is like, to try to describe this fog to another? Watching them struggle with the automatic responses - Don't I give you everything? Don't I make you happy? What have I done? And you can reach over and say please, it's internal, this is chemistry, goddamn it I'm suffocating and I'm the one tying the concrete block to my legs help me, and it won't matter. When it's this hard to talk about, you keep it to yourself. It festers.

And you learn that really, no matter how much people love you, you're on your own with this. Some try to stand valiantly with you. But it only takes one step too far for them to throw their hands up and say Fuck this, THIS is fucking crazy.

I'm just working through this, hair drifting around me in the deep cold water, I keep my eyes closed and retreat into my head. The room, do you remember it? The windows are foggy and dripping with condensation. There's nothing out there anyway. I love the way it smells, like wood and maybe pomegranate body spray. The boxes are scattered, the closet door is open. The animal is out and she purrs into my hand as I stand in the middle of this cluttered, stifling space. I talk to her, because she is me.

Maybe, for the first time, she'll talk back to me. Instead of screaming, instead of attacking. Silver eyes and my own heart. Maybe together, we can find balance, start kicking, and find the air.

alone in other peoples houses

i never quite feel right. here, in their things, in their rooms. trying to pretend they are mine. i dont eat, dont touch anything. hide in my blankets, in a room we made haphazardly. the tiny space full of our smell, and my dog sitting in the middle saying with a cocked head, "and just where are we?". we had to flee our home because of worthless people. i hate this feeling, its like weve given up. its like they won. and it makes me a bunch of different feelings at the same time. too much. this week was almost too much. there were happy points sure, there were times when it was all ok. but then at night the tv clicks off by itself and im in the dark eyes wide and questioning the whole fucked up puppet show of this vacation. he tells me to just forget about it, move on, look at my ring, know that he loves me, and i do. i do. but people in the world other than those in our warm inner circle scare me more than monsters, more than cockroaches, more than death. they bite and yell, they snatch things and break windows, they are always looking cockeyed at the others shaping and sizing them up, comparing the faults, feeling superior. i hate them. they smell like sulfur and expensive perfume, oils, tar, and slick greasy charm. i have panic attacks. i have to struggle to breath. lately ive been indoors almost constantly. i live to see small bursts of night and friends that dont have aggression in their voices. but im a little misguided in thinking that this will stay. i cant just ignore all the things that i feel. the fear is bad now, ive fed it and let it grow. the cutting i thought it was over i hoped it was but even when im strong im weak. my love for this person he sleeps next to me, he holds me when im screaming or crying or punching, i want it to stay. but the little backwards doubt i have is enough to make me hate my brain. all these things are constant, over the years ive been fooled into thinking this meant they were comfort. breaking from this has been a battle. too many pills and cold toned doctors have told me i am too sick to be normal. but ive been doing well. ive been working hard. im sure i can make it through this dark part, i have before. yea? he holds my hand. my dog kicks in his sleep. the peoples court comes on. i have paints. i have parents. i have a roof. i have everything i need.
right here. just breathe, woman. its ok. its ok. its ok.

cath

she stands.
with a well intentioned man.
but she can't relax.




i know how she feels.


someone take me out of this.

burfday love and simple worries

yesterday was tons of work and the easiest smiles i ever had.
at work people acknowledge, walking by and the hours are craaaaawling. finally im out of the store, into the car, hurry get ready, out of the apartment and into the waving laughing slightly buzzing voices of my friends and family. it was kind of funny but sweet. my mom was actually laughing and dawnelle bought me roses and i nearly fell over when i saw my dad and my older brother sitting at the bar of the restaurant talking. jason buys me a shot. i havent even eaten yet. here we go. dinner was trouble with breadsticks and wine and warm warm warm feelings. i love these people, here they are, watching me blush and twitch while the stupid waiters sing to me, a 23 year old lump of embarrassment. money in cards and a small frozen cake. geez. the shots kicking now, and im ready to leave. the older folks kiss me goodbye and us kids head to the bar. girl in a coma and girls from work and lonestar. the sexually mixed crowd and cockroaches on the patio. im in heaven i tell you. homework and stress leave me, even though im reminded when i see people from class and they cock their heads. drunk now dawnelle retrieves me from outside and we run in, shes telling me i hope they play my favorite song, and im just trying to keep up, light headed and smiling. when said song starts she puts her arm around me and this girl who ive known forever yells and this is my real present. this flutter, this exciting moment, she sings and i sway. behind me my brother laughs with his friends and its like i know everyone here. we swim through people and buy shirts and then its back outside for air.
i think im breathing.
what a day yesterday was.
it was probably the best day of 2008.
sigh.

were moving out of the apartment. all of our stuff is in piles or in boxes or in plastic containers and trash bags. im moving in with samantha. i think. she has two kids and a small room for me. i cant take anything. theres no space and im not on the lease. this is going to be hard. i just want my own place. i want to come home and talk to my cats and smoke on my balcony and sleep. alone. this has been festering for a while. and when tom asks me whats going to happen to us i know the answer, but i cant get it out. it hurts. this. i just need to buck up and get this fucking going. i keep talking about transition but im fucking horrible. tired/lazy and way too invested in this monotonous simple way.
ugh.
inspiration?

are you there?

i thought so.


time for sleep.

unfamiliar

it's been too long blogger.
what have you been up to without me?


i've become caught up.
whirlwind conditions and me with stuff to actually do and say.
[what?]
yes, me. productive.
a strange and rare thing.

dreams lately have been strange. yes the old faces. yes the walking and the colored glass, the fighting and the mossy tunnels. my father taunting an alligator with his leg and me wandering into mexico in the shape of an old library and carrying an old woman to safety. in one i stay in a tiny dorm with walls plastered with punk posters. in another im helping a friend get married and secretly spitting in her wedding cake.
metaphors?
i hope not.

otherwise

ive been here. just here. forced to smile at work and seeing my parents faces for the first time in months. im so happy they're back. the morning they got home my dad woke me up, i was still half in a dream and i think i told him to duck. the next thing i knew he was laughing and i was hugging him. he asked me how the cats got so fat and where were the keys to his truck? at work i meet little quirky girls with red hair and cynical stylings. they joke and push and play and make lattes. i think i finally found a job i might like to keep. i pin my hair and line my eyes, i brush up on my reading and i buy school supplies. new money. hard to ignore.
lovely.
but i still feel the creeping stagnant air of what was. im isolated from the familiar. i havent seen or talked to dawnelle in weeks. i saw jon the other day and i wanted to claw at him and ask him why i dont even know how hes doing anymore? im stuck with a strange roommate and tom, who just seems to lose more of his art everyday. im starving. hungry with the ache of the known. i want and want and want. sate me. somebody. im too needy and simple for my own good.
in this city, its easy to become something fluid and noncommittal.
what happened to the soft warmth and cool breezes.
lost maybe.
ive memorized the route from here to the quarry but the old roads and passages seem new and ugly.
stones for grass and crass for class.
the old way.
school starts soon and i hope im ready. maybe this time i wont fuck up and abandon. maybe this time ill have more than two words for everyone and maybe just maybe ill answer calls and take the time.
im just tired. this year has to be for something.
if anything maybe ill actually come out in the black and leave the red, sanguine or debt wise, behind.

who knows.

im usually all talk no walk.
stephanie. supreme queen of the disappoint move.
master of the slip and fall.
martyr for the lazy and unmotivated.

well see.

but i might be gone for a while.

working, schooling, and other wise trying not to kill all things fuzzy and drooling.

i didnt mean for that to rhyme. im not cute in purposeful ways.

see you soon blogger.

you were always more of a best friend than most.

my head

i am filled with shit.
i am a walking form of confusion.
i lead you in and take you home, fuck you, feed you and tell you that you mean something when the whole itme im not even in the drivers seat.
[i am stephanies false sense of love and affection]
i am falling apart gentle readers.
i am taking pills and wishing for sleep.
i am cutting too deep for the warm rush down from my wrist to my fingertips.
im noticing a pattern here.
im tearing at kids on the street.
im failing.
hard.
im a ball of deep loss.
im terribly mistaken for a good soul.
i can be horrible.
i can be fake.
i can hurt you.
i am fat.
[again with the self hatred. fuck]
actually im quite happy with my body.
or at least i think so.
[again with the self doubt]
how unattractive.
how me.
i fall into list mode without realizing it.

im lost. i cant wrap my head around the fact that i have to shake joey out into the wind. i cant handle being home alone when i know where all the sharp things are. people tell me i hold them together. this sates me to an extent. then i hear her. the voice. you remember her dont you. shes always fucking there. and usually when theres no one else to take my face and rub it in the shit to get me to just fucking stop listening. her little servant. her steady pupil. thats me. fucking naive little me. playing the strong girl outside of the bedroom walls that hold in the rage and red screens behind my eyes. the weary bag laden eyes. my poor eyes. god. forever smiling and forever the mindless idiot.

this has to stop.
something has to be done.

i am in the throes of a spaz attack.
but now abe and duane are here. maybe after the quarter of a xanax i can relax, and stop the fucking insanity.
just maybe.
i have to let them help me.
or theres nothing left tonight.