I can't feel much at the moment. I have a lump in my neck, which OF COURSE I've googled and Web MD'ed to death, so I'm sure I'm dying. I have a doctor appointment in two days, and I know that's only a start. I won't find out anything about it straight away. There will be labs, tests, whatever. In the meantime, I'm as much of a wreck as someone who is mostly numb to emotions can be. Wondering if I should plug on like normal, or whip out my bucket list. Which I haven't really even made yet. What do I want from life? I don't even know.
I'm roaming around in a mind fog. My days are all blurring together. I can't think clearly. I'm no fun. I'm just tired of all social interaction. I have the urge to just gather up my stuff and go camping by myself for a week. I'd probably be eaten by something, but at this point that almost sounds nice. Can't come in to work, sorry, I'm being eaten by a motherfucking bear. *sigh* I just can't anymore, but still have to anyway.
Things are too real. Or unreal. Reality is oppressive. Or nothing is happening. Pain is real, as I slap my face, cheek and cheek until my skin is singing. Awake is pointless movement in space. Dream is worlds in worlds in worlds, too few, far between and forgotten, devoid of routine and full with everything. I am so done with reality.
So today is unicorns and fucking rainbows. One day I'm stuck in a gray and blue mental auschwitz, the next I wake up as a happy hot pink tiger cub on a Lisa Fucking Frank notebook. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me.
So I'm not okay. Again. I'm a broken fucking record. Nobody wants to hear that I'm not doing okay. Even when they ask, "You okay?" when I say no, all I get is silence, or an, "...okay..." "No," is never the acceptable reply. I'm supposed to say yes by reflex whether it's true or not, because no one knows how to respond to, "Actually, it feels like all of reality is breaking apart and I've no idea how to cope with it."
I don't know. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it. I don't know what anyone could do to help. I don't even know how to word it so it can be understood. It's not one single thing. It's everything at once. It's everyday everything suddenly bigger and badder and more intimidating. It's dread. It's paralyzing emptiness. I don't know what triggered it. I have no clues or reasons. I'm empty handed. The only thing I can do is write it, roll it up in this bloggy bottle, and toss it out there.
I'm making the dinner. I'm listening to my music. Last night I was the only person alive. Now I'm invisible. Invisible. But they'll still get their fucking dinner.
Shit. A snow storm is coming this weekend. I guess a big one. It better fucking be huge, since I am going to have to stay overnight at work tomorrow. ON MY DAY OFF, just so I am sure to make it to my shift the next day. I stocked up on essentials this morning. Rum, Coke, beer, snacks. I plan to do my homework, drink until I'm stupid, listen to music, mope, and write some shitty poetry. And maybe a good poem, but that is not likely. At all.
I don't know how to be alone in a hotel room. It's always lonely and uncomfortable. Last time this happened, I brought productive things to do, a book, things I don't have time to do at home, or things that require more concentration than I can muster at home. But did I do anything productive? NO. I drank, sat around feeling mopey, drank more, looked at facebook, drank more, wondered how many of the hotel guests were fapping in their rooms at that very moment, drank more, flipped on the TV, found a stupid movie that I did NOT want to watch, watched it, bawled like an idiot because that's the reaction that movie was designed to induce, fell asleep feeling like the only person alive, and then me and my hangover woke up in the morning to the music of slamming doors.
In a shite mood. My Ethics instructor emailed me this evening, concerned that I'm not participating in class. It's an online class, and far as I know, I have not missed any deadlines. So really. Fuck that guy. I'm doing the best I can. The first real assignment is due on Sunday before midnight. This is, hmm, FUCKING THURSDAY. I appreciate his concern, but...no...no, I actually don't.
I'm on a Depeche Mode kick tonight, so I will leave you with this:
I think if I didn't have school or family, I would sleep most of the day, stay perpetually drunk, and do nothing but listen to music and write. I'd finally have the time to write book after book of horrible angst which I keep insisting qualifies as poetry. If I even stayed alive long enough. I had a conversation with my boss the other week about how she thought, minus family and school, I would still find something constructive to do with my time, because I'm just 'that sort of person.' This woman obviously doesn't know me at all. Not that I plan on doing anything to deprive myself of family or school. But I know me. I am, at my core, an alcoholic sloth.
This is the first year I've started in awhile that wasn't tinged with just a smidgen of optimism. I think that's because all my heroes and suddenly dying. Life is letting me know NO ONE IS SAFE. YOU ARE NOT SAFE. I CAN TAKE AWAY EVERYONE YOU LOVE, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF. Bowie, though. That was like a punch in the gut. Really, though, it was just him and Alan Rickman dying within days of each other. They were the top two in my list of Older Men I'm in Love With. I'm afraid to list the others for fear of jinxing them.
Also new: I got an Amazon Echo recently. So now my house is always either full of badass music or my family screaming "ALEXA STOP" over and over.
