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.

blood like oil

what is this, slow motion? everything feels dripping slow now.
its the point when i need the answers, your answers, his answers, facts, comforts, knowledge, give it to me why are you being so difficult when are the tests due back oh i could just fucking PUNCH something. its enraging.
finally im ready for it to be given straight as they say and now im dancing out of tune with nothing solid. holding myself up. fingers slipping through fog. there are few things real right now. i have two people beside me, one little person inside of me and 3 pets who mostly sleep and eat all day. i have no assets, nothing of my own to speak of spare random thrift store baubles, shoeboxes full of makeup, bobby pins, and plastic dinosaurs, and hair.
im far from derelict but im tripping ever closer. if it wasnt for the two angels i have protecting me on the weekends i might have already jumped texas and disappeared into unsolved mysteries status. i probably wouldnt care.
its so hard to think of others. that dark part of my brain twitches and im convinced im better off.
i could SWEAR i dont care.
[burning out inside]
its the point, you see.
i need to know, i need answers. remember. but at this point its mostly realization. that i may have to raise a child alone. that i have no job. that i can paint, but really i cant afford to anymore. that this was supposed to make me feel taken care of. but now i only fear for myself and my tiny parasite.
people like me never win the lottery, we get struck by lightning.
how long can i live in their homes before my angels throw up their hands and say snap the fuck out of it.
i feel a little useless today, that may be all.
its happened before.
ill surface soon.


right.