recovery room

I was walking to the bus just now, breathing in the green air for the first time in what feels like weeks, and the strangest happiness came over me. Or rather, I noticed it. And by rights, I shouldn't be. But I guess all that's happened, an agonizing week and more pain than I've ever encountered.... It makes everything I used to be afraid of less significant. I don't feel that constant anxious gnawing to prove myself. I don't feel the guilt I've always carried. And I know now what bright spot will always be in my eyes. This must last. I want it to.

as many requiems as possible

I have never had a more difficult day than those past few hours. I got past the screaming sobs and the shock as they went down the shower drain with soap and tears. I went into action as soon as I towelled off. I've never seen myself so level-headed. I've never felt so old. Other than procedural trepidation, I am left with only a deep sorrow. I don't want to celebrate. I have no cause to. I'm just cold and sad and I tripped and fell off the bus just now and I am so, so scared that this will make us lose something. Part of the joy we took in each other, maybe some of the trust. The truth is that now I have made another sad memory for him to feel the sharpness of the past in, and I always wanted to be so different for him. I'm so sad. I've never felt such a wordless anchor, never had such an overwhelming reason. I do now. Birthday transmission, end.

error: uncertain domain

There are few things that are more terrifying to me than not knowing what is going on inside my body. In fact, I would be hard pressed to come up with something that scares me more absolutely and fundamentally. That's why I've never been one for substances. I don't like being out of my own control, and I don't like unexpected changes to my health. (greatest explanation for recent anxiety and near-constant terror) It seems this thought is overwhelmingly appropriate on the eve of my twenty-first birthday- a day already sadder than most birthdays because people only seem to care about the alcoholic number, and not a whit that it's my birthday. How strange to be eclipsed by one's age. But then, I've never had the gumption to be special. My intent is simply to ignore the day as much as possible. I'd rather be left alone, I think. I don't think the ability to drink is going to change my life in any way. I truly don't care. I wish they knew how I felt. It's not easy for people from this culture to understand. But I decided today- on the subject of not understanding what a body is doing- that what would be worse than not knowing, worse even than having to choose, would be to know and be powerless. I just have to keep telling myself that I'm not, and maybe the fog won't matter.

tired

Two days before school starts.

A month ago, my friend Ann and I baked a cake in the shape of a cheeseburger for our friend's birthday.

I have no funny or goofy symbols for this new season.

sleepy.

[Bon Iver+ general exhaustion= sublimity.]

um.

i'm a little embarrassed at how negative i've been these past months. i don't know how to let my emotions out. i used to not feel them, and now i know them for what they are and they render me helpless.

my home life isn't the best, or at least, it's not what i wish it were. there are a lot of transgressions of space and etiquette, two things i do not handle well. and instead of acting constructively, i have become exhausted, overly sensitive, and vaguely passive-aggressive. i hate this about myself.

that stress has climbed into work and taken hold, as well. aside from the completely unmet financial needs, of course.

i don't know what to do. is it enough to know that i have fallen into these tendencies? is being aware of them changing them? or do i have to conduct an overhaul of my entire being?

i feel, increasingly, that a mass purging is necessary. some kind of rite of purification for myself and my head. it's becoming a need. but there is no time, not when i have to frantically sweep everything into planning for school and work more than i sleep.

sigh.

i should go to bed. cross your fingers that i actually get to fall asleep this time. noise, blissful irritating noise....

The bruise on the inside of my left wrist is my favorite feature.

To make myself feel better, I am trying to bring myself back twelve hours.

I was in this limpid daze, singing "Reflection" (Belleruche, amazing, amazing) while lying on the floor. Was there because I can't breathe inside my apartment without inhaling stress.

Frustration and annoyance give way to resentment, and I'm so fucking negative lately. I can't stand it. I don't want to be this person, but right now I am, and it's so weak that it kills me.

Singing, I tried to soothe myself on his floor. I was only falling further into that fog when he came back from whatever he was doing and somehow drew me into the other room. Whenever I'm forced to look at myself through his eyes, I can't imagine I and she are the same person. Nothing matters, not my flaws, not my illness, not the constant paranoia that it will come back, not my fears, not my insecurities, not my way of picking apart every aspect of myself to be certain it's wrong....
We share this perfect synchronous addiction to each other. The second his hands fall on me it's like I'm both myself and him at once, and I don't give a shit if that sounds like the immature version of romance because it's real and it's mine.

No one else has to get it, because they didn't stay up until four in the morning laughing after making each other pass out. Somehow it gives me comfort to believe that no one can touch this. No one can have it, no one can make it walk away.

I've never had this before.

also also wic

i think that the smell of booze on someone's breath is contemptible and the least attractive thing imaginable.

it smells like rotted meat rolled in fruit