alltheavenueslookugly

i take a deep breath exhale and do this probably three more times before i feel like i can even pick up the pen and when i do decide to write things out it begins to look foreign to me – which happens when you write something repeatedly one boring and frightening phrase after another and your handwriting stays mostly the same and you do this for hours and the words begin to look misspelled and strange – because i have seen this written in giant graffiti letters and words with neon outlines or big bold lines – maybe three or four – that reminds me how this particular phrase is really important –

and it is.

my head is swimming now, my eyes are loose in their sockets and bouncing around and eyelids grow heavy and the pressure is leaving me quickly beginning at my neck and working it’s way to my shoulders and i might even be taking off my clothes right now and it slides down to my stomach and then i feel it leave me because maybe i pissed myself or ejaculated softly and it’s perfectly normal and then my legs give out and i am sitting as upright as gravity will allow – which isn’t too much and imagine what it looks like for my fat ass to look like i have no bones left in my body and I am just a pile of tattooed blubber that has been left there and propped up with toothpicks that are about to scream themselves apart.

and when eyes open i am fourteen years old and swallowed in baggy clothes on that stiff green couch in austin – and there are ghosts that are passing by and opening up the doors to their rooms and none of them speak but some of them are crying and they just keep to themselves because they have annoyed every last person on earth for too long now and it is time to start practicing the art of suffering in silence. my throat is closing and i am coughing and somehow digging dozens and hundreds of pills out of my mouth and they are packed in there so tight and i have no fingernails to impale them so it’s as if i’m trying to claw the middle bricks out of a perfectly solid standing wall – and it’s just useless and i cough so hard and all that will come out is some liquefied version of shame and regret when the ghosts refuse to look me in the eye –

i black out in this monster room and i’m back now in my bed in the coffin box with no windows and no shadows and just the light from the television screen with a movie on mute and all the actors dancing. this could have all been a prescription drug dream – some ambien time travel to what could have been the worst place in the world and how it left me there for what was hours in my head and only forty-three minutes in the real time.

turn the volume up so i have some company

stare at the clock that reads 3:12 in the morning and wonder if this will ever stop.

if this ever stops i wonder if i would miss it.

i wonder if it would miss me.

and all this wonder begins a new day.

don’t worry. i am doing fine.

~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2013/03/07.

Posted in march13
Tags: bipolar disorder, depression, guilt, insomnia, medications, posts about suicide, psychiatric hospital, sex, sleep