1. my eyes burn, my head hurts. my face is stiff and salty. why am i so emotional. why am i so goddam weak. from the bathroom floor the world just looks different. from that point of view i see it for what it is. depraved. pathetic. or maybe what i see is just a reflection of myself. i don’t know. i don’t want to think. i want to be done. it’s all the same. two steps back, then two steps back again. from the bathroom floor the dark seems to go on forever. i breathe in blackness so thick but so good. its draped over the floor and the white porcelain bathtub that i can’t see but know is supposed to be on the other side of where i lie. earth shattering pounds in my ears. tsunamis of despair drawn from within me then dumped over my head like some kind of sick joke. It’s not real though. I refuse to admit the realness of my condition. A little hiccup in my act, is all. When I’m done with my bottled up release, something in me says, Get up, this is insane, be rational. Something in me sounding far too similar to the nonsense that flies from all directions outside the bathroom door. All I am out there is fair game. But even here, something noisy and suffocating has wormed a way into in my conscience. Something locked me out and changed the key. When all i had wanted, was something to believe in.
All I got,
was something to destroy me.
2. Inside, an unexplained weight pulls on the core of my being. A feeling as heavy and cold as an entire Arctic glacier. It silently presses its mass on the world, sometimes melting, then reforming, but never completely relenting.
It just hits me sometimes. How perfectly, terribly, alone I am.
Dust dances before my eyes like I’m in a dream, little fluffs illuminated momentarily by the winter sun before disappearing once again into the cloak of the shadows. The pattern of the slatted window blinds casts thick yellow stripes that melt into the walls and into me.
The stillness of it all hurts tangibly, in a far-away, dull, kind of ache. Like an itch on the inside. How do you scratch that? I shift uncomfortably, my movement lifeless - that of a puppet. In my ears, unsaid words seem to echo on repeat, their meanings undefined but haunting. I wish I could catch them and write them down, but as with everything else I want, they elude me.
Like this, I sit and I exist, pretending that nothing’s wrong,
Like this, I drown, quietly, in air.
