anemonia
I didn’t feel like speaking today. I felt like muffling out every possible thought in my head. I had something playing in my headphones the whole day, and if not, I was reading. I’ve been watching a lot of shows and reading a little here and there and playing a lot of mind-numbing mobile games. Surely this is no way to live. I realize that, and at night I look at my boyfriend like an idiot, because I have nothing to say to him, I just want to go back to the mind-numbness. Maybe I need more sleep. I need to get to bed earlier, maybe. If only things were that easy though. At times like these I often think to myself: the thing that is making me feel so off is something that will be obvious to me in the future. I'll feel stupid for not noticing, for failing to do something about it. Oh well.
I’m going to let my eyebrows grow bushy, and if I can't find my deodorant on the floor at night then I just won’t put it on, because I may as well smell bad tomorrow, nobody will notice, nobody will mind. I wont shave, I usually wont brush my teeth. My room has not been cleaned in months. I’ve started to notice recently when I root through the piles of clothing in my room, I get the eerie sense that something larger than the small house insects I’m used to is going to jump out at me. Its my intuition telling me I’ve let my room get so filthy that a family of rats might have set up shop here. Oh well…………………… I don’t think I have it in me to kill a rat. I hope I don’t have to. It looks too much like a real thing with a life of its own.
You know what's real cowardly? To do something bad, do it even though you know its not right, then beat yourself up for it. That’s real weakness. To constantly make up for the weakness of will that has you by hating yourself for it. I think it makes me feel at peace. I feel like I’ve been punished for it, so its fine now.
Especially when something in me is always clawing at my insides. Something, not always the same thing, but always something, clawing at me, ripping my insides to shreds, trying to let itself out. And I don’t like to entertain it, I don’t like to think, because thinking means seeing myself, and I’d rather never see myself. Id rather never think, in fact a lot of my time is spent trying to escape the thinking thing, thoughts, life, everything. And if I shut it out, if I shut everything out, I am numb and dead, but I am not myself for a little while, and that can be very good sometimes.
I had a dream where I felt such a sharp need for somebody. It was so visceral, I needed a person, but the thing I needed was no longer a person, it had grown and engulfed a secret of mine, and it had become the secret. Imagine a secret you have, you are positive you have never told any living soul on this earth of such a secret. Somebody comes up to you and asks you about this secret, long after you’ve forgotten about it, long after you’ve realized it never had to leave the being of your mind. How terrifying is that? What do you do to such a person? What do you do with such a secret? To hear something that has never left the confines of your mind materialized into words, becoming a real thing in the world you live in day to day, the world you wake up to, the world you breathe. Its uncomfortable.
Wanting is always accompanied by that thing, the terrible embarrassing thing, the sinking of your heart, the shallowness of your breath, and your eyes growing weary. Imagine the look on a face, a face that tells you it wants you. Its eyes would be looking at you, but they’d be pleading with you, they’d be looking through you, asking you, wanting to reach inside you and pull you out of there. And id feel happy because I would mean something. And I imagine myself sitting on top of a person, I see their eyes looking up at me through warm orange lighting. They look small and nervous, and they are pleading with me. They are asking me for something, but I’ve forgotten what for, and I’ve forgotten what I had that anyone could have wanted. The eyes look sad, but they are still pleading. Its an embarrassing look, at first glance, but really, its strength, because they are asking for something no matter how many times they have been told no. The eyes are sad, but I don’t know if its because I have power, or if its because they pity me.