me and january 30. 2014

i’ve been gone. hiding. beneath blankets and shivering.

i was sorry to hear of a fellow blogger passing away recently. she wrote a good blog, and while i didn’t know her well, it hits close to home. those of us that blog, we are all connected by a shred of the same sickness, and i hope she is at peace now.

it makes me think about myself a lot. this blog. the friends i have made and all the words i have written about this illness and the disease and my suicide attempts and all of it – and i wish i could say that writing so much, exploring the deep dark inside myself, exposing it for the world to see, has changed me.

but it hasn’t.

so i will keep writing. for as long as i can.

maybe someday it will make sense and i can look back and credit this blog with helping me crawl out of the hole – but i don’t honestly think there is a way out. all i am able to do is stand at the bottom and look up. some days i am able to see just the tiniest bit of light up above me. it reminds me that it is there and that it is out of my reach, and i can hear the voices of the people above me, people that live in that light and pass by my hole tiptoeing so that they don’t rub it in how good they are feeling. but most days i cannot see that light. if i go long enough i forget that it is there – it is easy for me to begin to imagine that it is gone forever. so what can i do but pace around and color my hair, color my bones, wipe my eyes and constantly pick the shade out of them. put my ear to the side of my hole and listen for reasons and laughter. there are clouds. they block everything. there are demons and ugly voices that sound like they are speaking through a mouthful of broken glass and it hurts my ears – so i pack them full of dirt and curl up in a ball and try and to will myself to fall asleep and not ever wake up.

i want to write about what it was like for me to be a kid. i want to remind myself that i have always been in this hole. that i have been choking on psychotropic medications rubbing my throat to make them go down easier, what it feels like for them to dry out and be stuck to my tongue and i cough and they always slide down into my stomach in the roughest way possible. it’s like they have goddamn fingernails. it’s like that passage is so goddamn dry.

i need to write about what it was like for me to be a kid. so many signs that this would never go away. once my brain was fucked and fried there was no turning back and not enough bandaids to cover all the open sores. when i die i hope they take my brain and burn it with the rest of my body just so i can know there is one way to get rid of them for sure. i hope they form my lips into a smile before all of this because it’s what should happen. i’ll know they will be gone. no jumping away and settling into somebody else. they were just mine, and then they will be gone with me. it’s only fair.

somebody please mention in my epitaph how i finally beat the disease.

 

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~ by alltheavenueslookugly on 2014/01/30.

5 Responses to “me and january 30. 2014”

  1. Do you happen to have a pet? I am just petting my cat now. There’s a small glow there…

  2. You know a low maintenance animal may be of some comfort, might be worth a try…maybe you could rent one for a while to see if it works 🙂

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