Thursday, December 29, 2016

No, I Don't Care

I don’t exactly care about anything. I don’t understand how I can feel totally pumped then suddenly question if I really like anything that I am doing.

Recently, I tried reading the newspaper. Oh my God. So fucking boring. But interesting when I force myself to read it. But am I enjoying it? I cannot tell. Does it matter? Will I remember the stories? Will it affect me in any way?

Of course, it will. I am never not affected by the things I come across in my life.

I hate it. It sucks. I wanna just scrub off the paint and see myself. I want a packet that says, “This is you. This is your dreams. This is what you’re like, who you’re friends with, what your career is.” I want a detailed description- favorite foods, clothing, pastimes and quirks.

I get frustrated. I feel hopeless. Because I don’t know who I am. It keeps changing. Everyday- throughout the day. I want to be able to just shove it down a hole. Or just roll with whatever is happening. Honestly, whenever a new personality creeps in I feel excited. I think, “This feels right!” Then, I blow up into rages over a piece of origami that just isn’t turning out right. I get odd adrenaline surges that make my stomach flutter and my elbows feel weird. It feels as if my body just isn’t right.

So, my mind tells me, “You like newspapers. Read every word of the newspaper. Buy the daily issues.” My body obliges, but in an odd- glitchy way. Its hands tremble, stomach cramps and heart palpitates- It’s just a newspaper, a lot of work goes into them and plenty of people read it. All of my momentum begins to slow and eventually halts, because there is an argument within shouting READ IT! and DON’T! Simultaneously.

I wish I could only listen to one voice. Because honestly, this happens with nearly everything I do. It happens when I bathe, when I read. When I relax. Play disc golf. Cut. Don’t cut. Dance. Don’t dance. Eat. Don’t eat.

There’s no winning, Lovelies.

At least, that’s the way I feel right now.

And then, I won’t feel this way. And I will wonder, “What was wrong with me? Thank goodness I’ll never feel like that again.”

Right now, I don’t know which way is up.

I am like a frozen computer screen. Inwardly, I am clicking like crazy, as if that would actually restore the program and get it back to functioning normally. We not it doesn’t. Then comes frustration and despair. It’s broken. What a shitty computer. And ya really want to just throw it out of a window.
This has been difficult to write. Because I cannot decide if I enjoy doing this or not. I want more than anything to climb out of my skin. I want to shut off for a while.

At moments like these, I drink. If I get drunk enough, I hack at my legs and arms with scissors. I think it would only take one moment of solidity to commit suicide. It’s not a threat- it’s a longing for relief. In fact, a lot of my panic attacks begin with the thought that this cycle will never end. I will never find enjoyment. I will never know who I am. I will awkwardly eek by.

Then I will snap back and feel alright for a while.

And all I just wrote will sound like whiny nonsense.

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