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.

it never matters

i am, have always been, will always be brash and strange.

headsore

sometimes

-i just really want some fucking candy.
-i think i should go vegetarian.
-i wonder why i hurt everywhere.
-i smile at strangers on the street, kinda.
-i just need the good, strong, slightly acidic kind of coffee.
-things work out.
-the bed feels like its full of needles. why can't i just sleep?
-my dreams aren't for me, the messages i mean.
-i wonder what it would be like right now if i had just skipped 2006. [travesty]
-my head head feels like its going to break open in an unexpected place.
-i cut off all my hair.
-i trust.


im in a weird way. its been a long time since, well, since there have been marks to explain. its been hard, i think about it everyday. he tells me its not worth it. i tell him he doesnt understand. he just smiles and say im too beautiful to be doing that shit. he gives me butterflies and i focus on the fluttery feeling rather than the itchy finger one. im lucky. but im also weak. i dont want to think about relapse i dont want to relive or even remember the alcohol burn of a white hospital. cream colored dapakote, tiny pink seroquel. twitch. but its ok. im sure im stronger than i give myself credit for. but nights when im all alone wide awake and thinking too much all too fast well those are the perfect nights for bad decisions.

its ok.

the down always leads back to ups.


hang on. hang on. hang on.

drunk

all the ramblings in me are useless and dead.


i was wondering about wishes and instantly thought of the first one that would come from the lips of every human.
the "i just want to be happy" wish.
i was thinking.
it just couldnt work.

more on this later.
right now
im just going to go read, and maybe finish this drink, and maybe sleep.

im seeing the foolishness of the last title.....sigh

remember in the last blog how me and my mind roughed up my common sense?

well that was a bad idea apparently. i was the definition of "too drunk [or crunk if you prefer]" last night. fuck. it ended with me hugging the toilet and telling it about everything i ate that day. in vivid detail. after getting lost in the airport somehow duane finally found me there, and took care of me, but it was not pretty. just not pretty. at least the first part of the night was ok. the boys were in the same room, and actually talking. it was more than i could have expected. i was thinking cold shoulders and sudden disappearance. but everyone behaved and interpol was blasting and it was a thoroughly good time. poor abes apt, its been spilled on and beaten lately. oy, im still kind of drunk. and at work. fucking hell.

a short one.

i have to go back now.

*cries*