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.

to be resistant, the other night and the ones that followed, and dancing away the week

smoke smoke smoke

stomach turning.

ouchie.

i have a slightly desperate look in my eyes right now.

too much in my head. i can't get started.

who the fuck designed my duplex? who was the asshole who put the mirror in the bathroom just a tiny bit higher than normal so i have to be on my toes when im trying to get ready in light speed for work? makeup becomes a workout. all the outlets are sideways. the ceilings are too high goddamnit. theres no vent for the stove so the fire alarm goes off while im cooking and im left fanning the beeping thing and prying open painted windows. i stomp through the small space, befuddled, glancing at the parts of it that don't fit or make sense. it smells like grandma in there. [no one else has acknowledged this, maybe im imagining that part] no doors on the frames, i walk circles into the kitchen into the living room into the kitchen. theres wallpaper on one wall, four feet up, and thats it. ????? oh well. at least the lights work and the cats are happy to smell the strange blue carpet. harumph. what an odd place.
might just be perfect for me.
ive had a very real fear that maybe ill be trapped here. in this city. i see people i know, getting soft and settled. content? maybe resigned. a copper taste and i know im growing roots. here i shake my feet. ok, theyre still a metaphor. but how much longer do i have before the air becomes too thick and i cant breathe anymore just function and tread. shake it off shake it off shake it off.
for now i can handle this. maybe.
the other night i drove across town in rain and cold to get the voice ive been missing these past few years. deep and familiar. he gets in my car and i start to panic. what am i thinking... whats this..... i cant do this. but there we were. in the parking lot at work now. its been hours and the windshield holds rain and our coffee is cold and im not as nervous anymore. hes the same boy i used to know. adore, love, whatever. years ago we destroyed each other. the fall was incredible, epic and cruel. and yet.... its true .... i could never trust anyone like i trusted him. i could never let go. maybe i never did, just put on a good front. you still make me shake. and i want to be here. this isnt like before. welcome back.
sigh. but its terrifying.

everything is so damn terrifying.

last night i danced with people i adore. we watched a classy lady expose herself then we went back to singing bad rap and dancing like the east siders we are. drunk and smiling i hug and pull and move. it felt wonderful and i forgot that i had all this trash in my head for just long enough. her smile, his hand on my arm and the pulsing lights mingle with new faces and smoke. smile honey, this is what you need.

sigh.

what can i do to make a straight line? nothing.

powerless.

head rush.

done.