in pain.
��������� �����the soundtrack is becoming increasingly depressing, and the pit in my stomach hollows me out further bit by bit.abandoned into some sort of blackness, and by no one other than myself. constantly, again and again rejected by no one other than myself. it may be two to tango, but it's one to let go it's like i play sick games with myself, or something - things i can't go into detail because i can't let myself here. i can't define myself, and thus i become less of a person. i have no real preferences. i like all kinds of music. i like all kinds of movies. i don't know what i want to be when i grow up. i'm uncomfortable being here but i can't leave and i can't stay. i'm stuck in this limbo, this gray hell, and there's no moving. everyone tells me to leave, everyone including myself, except reality says YOU CAN'T GO ANYWHERE.
why do i stay here? is it true, do i really want to just fold myself into a corner of maine and slide into disappearance? "if you know you're getting a huge amount of debt, and you might never be able to pay it off, leave - or accept your fate" peter said tonight. "and do what?" i replied. "go back home, live under the scowl of disgust on my parents' faces? be a complete reject working a third rate job trying to pay off his bills? because THAT'll happen. because THAT will stem my depression off LICKETY FUCKING SPLIT." kaylen is telling me the same things, maybe you don't want to be a writer plugged into a big city, maybe you just want something else -
maybe i don't know what i want. i'm scared, and i'm alone, i'm ashamed, and i need for you to - i didn't say all the things i needed to say nothing ever comes out of me at the right time. i can never quite verbalize myself in the right manner, and my eyes are always sunken. my sadness is like a suit of armour that i have to put on every day. i talk to people online, who see my face on the webcam. "smile," they tell me. "smile." it's gotten so bad that i don't look anymore. shaking, daily, in this throe of knowledge that i CANNOT do it on my own. something is physically and mentally wrong with me. i cannot be a functioning member of society. mumblemouth and shakyhands. thinking on another track all the time, even when people are talking to me. confused and stuttering in conversation - egoist! bring the subject back to yourself why don't you, again and again, because you don't talk to yourself enough.
anger, spite, wrath. knowing where i stand in a hierarachy of friendship around here, as dictated by a presupposed queen. "some people just get kicked to the curb" and yeah. i can't decide anything without thoroughly searching the answers out, every possible route - every way.
kaylen told me to go into the bathroom and spill some water intentionally. and put some towels down so people didn't slip. automatically i think of who i'd be inconviencing. then i just did it, but there weren't any towels. so i felt bad. gnawing at me. i didn't go clean it up. didn't fix the karma balance. still tilted. what do i have in my life that i have to account for that needs this deplorable insanity to balance it out?
i'm not as talented at things as i think i am. maybe it's hubris that i have to account for. maybe this is some divine plan to keep me inspired, since, clearly, inspiration rises from my torture. torture's a melodramatic word for it. sometimes i'm so happy, and then i just roll over and die. something goes wrong, i can't just take the punch & go with the flow. i have no support here, little encouragement. i don't know how to go about living. the friends i have that are close are online. kaylen, peter. hollow type on a screen. voices i hear once in awhile on the phone. jason. i never know how to categorize people. feeling like i hurt someone everytime i mention their name. a dim whirling whiteness behind my eyes everytime i shut them. hunger, since i have no food and little money.
a poverty of decision. of impetus. "go, transfer schools, dropout, do what you want, just go" i CAN'T, i tell them, i have debt, i have friends, i have promises i've made, i want to finish something i start for once in my godforsake life - i need to achieve happiness, i really fucking just want to be able to SMILE and mean it, and not be worried about how fake it looks or how happy i am, how comfortable i am, i don't want to think about myself anymore,
i need to be concrete. i need to be secure. i need to be stable. it won't be happening. i can't see myself living past 30. medieval-age. i need something physical that i can translate this pain into "i'm sorry but don't talk to me about being moody" she says, "i'm sorry but i was disappointed in the way you handled the situation i'm sorry but i don't think that shows good work ethic" "fuck you"
why do i let it hurt me so much? so here i'm sitting in my car at the same old stoplight / i keep waiting for the change / but i don't know why / so red turns into green turning into yellow / but i'm just frozen here in the same old spot / and all i have to do is to press the pedal / but i'm not
is this limbo of indecision of my own making? am i suffocating myself with my own problems? well people are tricky / you can't afford to show / anything risky, anything they don't know / the moment you try / well kiss it goodbye - i get lost in this space inside my head, an endless entropy-ridden battlefield that is so silently loud that it reverberates in my ears and keeps me from hearing anything else.
"that's a nice way to rationalize it" or something. that's a nice way to say anything. i have debt, i have pain, i have confusion, i start to freak out and i look around the dark room. i extend my consciousness down the hallway. jason's at work. kristin's - kristin. peter's away. on the town. kaylen's.. away. the cellphone is silent, cold to my fingers. i could call someone. any one of those people who have offered to be there if i need it. tara. matt cary. ... anthony. i could call anyone. erin. nate. any one of them in the past have offered.
i stop. think. the phone rings in my mind. "hello / hello / hi /" and then i hang up because i don't know what else to say. i am covered in skin / no one gets to come in / pull me out from inside it's impossible. voices through a wire, text on a screen. "i'll always be there for you if you need to talk. okay? i want you to know that." i remember how voices like that sound. sad and determined. a hand on a shoulder. maybe. after i'm shaky, downed half a bottle of advil. latenight driving, walks around the drivethru in burgerking at 3am. concern, true concern just wait / just wait
in your eyes i see a darkness that torments you / and in your head where it dwells / i'd give you my hand if you'd reach out and grab it / let's walk away from this hell
i'm tired of begging. i'm tired of needing. i'm sick, my eyes are hurting. i don't know where else to go. this journal is worth shit. because i know most of you have scrolled down to this part, right before the end, and maybe a faux-sympathetic voice will appear on the other end someday. maybe a "i hope you feel better soon" in the book. or fucking something like that. some sad little smiley :( :( :( - something that means nothing. or something. i'd GIVE you my hand if you'd REACH out and grab it / let's WALK away from this HELL
what more do i need to say? i don't know who i can trust. i don't know who to turn to. i can't even trust myself. i don't know who anybody is, least of all myself.
i feel like i'm coming back to rock bottom again. floating as silently and as grimly as a detached feather who is controlled by the capricious wind around it.