This Is A Problem
"Taro" by alt-J [I just did this song but I forgot to put my favorite lyric so... This song is about the famous war photography Capa and the love of his life, Taro. They both died in their field. This song is about Capa's death, I suppose, which was a year or two after Taro's. His leg got blown off.]
Do not spray into eyes
I have sprayed you into my eyes
"You're pulled by the moonlight somehow" -Shapeshifter by Local Natives
January 17, 2014 Saturday 8:00 PM
I feel very sick. I don't hate myself. I haven't for a long time, so I wonder why I still have thoughts of hurting myself. Like that will stop the never-ending anxious thoughts, like that will stop my vivid nightmares, like that will make me want to be afraid again.
Even if it did grant all my wishes, I'd want the pain. I'd be okay for awhile but I can't really ever escape. I don't let myself. I want it. I can't stand being sane, I can't stand controlling myself, I want to be art, I want to be splattered across the room, open and broken and bending light.
I'll keep cold fingers and days in bed, I'll keep shivers and tears and misery, not because I think I deserve it but because I can't live without it (do I even want to?).
I think that's why depression is hard to get rid of. No one really wants to. For me, it's like a strange, uncomfortable blanket. I want it, thought, because I'm used to it and it makes me feel like I am more than just a flat piece of paper. What am I without violent colors in my eyes? What am I without ups and downs?
I'd feel boring and strange and that would make me sad, so I'm not sure I could get away if I wanted to. I might want to. It's hard to tell. I squint, but then I realize I can't see emotions anyway so that was a pretty much useless thing to do.
I do a lot of useless things. I am very hungry for so much and very impatient, too impatient to sit and wait. I am restless and tired, sad and ecstatic, and it's so chaotic.
Everything crashing into everything else and then, pulling back, back into the ocean until there is nothing there but the twisted dreams. I can't make sense of the things I remember when I wake up in the morning but I do know they make me feel terrible. I know that I would miss them if they were gone.
I wonder why I am that way. I think it makes me feel interesting and I hate that I need to feel that way. What am I trying to prove and to who? Why does being okay make me feel incomplete?
Oh god, so many questions.
Feeling crazy and paranoid and so, incredibly powerful. Not, like, physically strong or anything, but I mean.. I feel so goddamn intelligent, like I could kill a man with my words.
Fucking hell, I am not that smart. Fucking hell, how am I so sad and so conceited?
So confused. The filth in my lungs has settled to the bottom. I can feel it if I breathe really deep. Sometimes, my body makes mistakes and I breathe out smoke instead of carbon dioxide. I can't figure out where it came from, but it's there, somewhere.
I'm somewhere. I'm perfectly clear, perfectly rational. Everything is the same as it was before, other than my thoughts. I am not crazy. I wonder, though. Can crazy thoughts count as insanity itself? Probably not.
I trust my eyes but I do not trust my mind.
I am not sad, but my synapses do not agree.
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