| You disallowed my need, BUT I ATE IT ANYWAY.
Dad's sad: all coked-up and nowhere to go. all-coked-up
and nowhere
to go. | comments: 3 comments or Leave a comment   |
| Tomorrow is Girl's Day Out at the spa with Michelle and then to a beautician for hair-styling, eyebrow-plucking, perhaps piercing.
Baby. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| | Depression can be a -- very painful -- holiday from anxiety. From anxiety we fall into darkness of depression to be protected from the open. There appears to be no sense in stepping out from darkness. Anxiety points toward becoming; depression toward immobility. In anxiety we see no sense; but anxiety enlivens the need to make sense. This need wanes in depression. Anxiety paired with depression paralyses. Anxiety by itself enlivens. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Hello: I am so totally, absolutely, completely fucked-up.
Let me explain.
First, I am alone. I'm not talking about that kind of social withdrawal, that solitude or distance it's comforting to put to buffer yourself and the world. It's like this: imagine being imprisoned in the unfurnished basement of an abandoned house.
All day.
Everyday.
All day.
(Everyday.)
All day, everyday.
All day: every-fucking-day.
Somehow there is just enough viands to subsist upon; that, and a piece of chalk. So your only pastime besides sleeping, screaming for help (ever in vain), eating, and pacing the perimeter of the room (the first three days you did this because you were afraid that if you sat still you would go mad, now whenever you begin fervently flitting back-and-forth it only agitates the imposed black silence); fucking muttering to yourself: "FUCK! Shit! FUCK, FUCK, motherfucker. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH."
And then tears. And more tears at your nervous breakdown. Beleaguered, distraught, fretting; SO UTTERLY FUCKING SICK OF THIS.
You pick up a stray piece of chalk on the floor and delicately limn, you are counting, your days here; by observing sun-rise/sun-set via the windows. All that is welling up in you, stir-crazy, is a ferocious drive to be free of this, to find an escape and talk to somebody; the cloest you can get, by hollering out the glass windows at passer-bys is stares. Grotesque gawks. It's worst when they don't see or hear you at all, but sometimes you can wrangle eye-contact and feebly mouth the word 'heellp', at which they promptly stroll onward, oblivious.
There are a few regulars who walk the block, and although they rarely (if ever) feel compelled to chat, sometimes they'll humour you if you make impassioned pleas, or feign 'being interesting'. Sometimes they return.
But no one will take the trouble of freeing you.
I could go on; point being, sorry about purging my list on ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) nil_enkephalin; point being, I am really very suicidal. There is always JUST ENOUGH DREAD to petrify and paralyze, but not enough to pull-me-through the act. Until recently. I don't know what to do; trying to live (let alone live properly) is becoming more and more untenable (not to mention inconvenient), I am really really losing it, as you can see above. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| Dear Almighty Allah,
When I should meet Helena, would You please be so kind as to cross the stars for me so that she doesn't find me yet another baseborn Wild Bore (boar) and/or REPULSIVE and/or in any way off-putting, that would be GRAND.
In fact, although I don't particularly covet her approbation, it would be nice to have a mutually enjoyable intimacy; i.e. can You also make me glamourous ("no more bad-hair-days"), 'non-vituperrious' (whatever that may entail). Being able to entertain her whilist successfully evading the Authorities would also be a definite plus.
OH, and a similar recipe for Katarzyna.
And while You're at it, who is my lover? (What door is Mystery Girl #3 behind?)
Thanks.
Yours in hell,
Flaming Infidel | | comments: Leave a comment |
| I am the escaped one (Fernando Pessoa)
I am the escaped one,
After I was born
They locked me up inside me
But I left.
My soul seeks me,
Through hills and valley,
I hope my soul
Never finds me. | | comments: Leave a comment |
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