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2016-09-03 15:19:58 (UTC)

(i'm a little paranoid though)

"Heart Cooks Brain" by Modest Mouse [seemed appropriate – can't stop thinking about absence versus thin air, I really can't, it's stuck in the head]

On the way to god don't know
My brain's the burger and my heart's the coal
I'm tried getting my head clear
I push things out through my mouth, I get refilled through my ears
I get refilled through my ears, I get refilled through my ears
We tore one down, and erected another there
The match of the century, absence versus thin air
Absence versus thin air

September 3, 2016 Saturday 2:58 PM

School starts in four days. I am not looking forward to it. It'll be rough. Hopefully it'll get better. I'm excited. I'm scared.

I'm considering taking AP Chemistry. I was not very good at chemistry, though. Still, it's the central science.

I'm trying to get better at sight-reading sheet music, since right now I mostly only read super slow and then memorize the movement and the sound. My poor cerebellum is overdrawn! No, it's not. It can fit more information.

But still, I hate how long it takes me to read sheet music. I'm impatient. I want to read quickly. So I'm learning.

I'm worrying about what I'll wear on the first day of school.

I'm worried about the awkward twenty minute car ride with that-kid-from-school, worried he'll be like most people (what I mean is he'll think I'm the off-putting kind of weird). Worried it'll be like that every day for the next year.

Worried I'll kill myself with the workload, worried I've made the wrong decision and it's concrete because for some reason my pride won't let me stop things that hurt, and confusingly enough, sometimes I like the pain and I like the satisfaction of the aftermath, the I-did-it!, the retrospective love for whatever it was I conquered.

I'm terrified that I'll be the dumb kid in a group of New York smarties, kids from all around Upstate – up to two hours away – here because they have some kind of passion that I lack, where is my passion? It's everywhere – I spread it everywhere.

The one idea I can hold onto is neuroscience, because I am fascinated with the whole process, the physical functions behind observed behavior. That, I can keep my shaky hand on because maybe I'll like it even more when I learn and god knows I love anatomy, I love disgusting stuff...

Maybe I'm not so wrong for this. Although I need an outlet for some of this excess thought, so I can't can't can't ever stop writing...

I have to clean my room. I will die if I don't clean my room.

I have to study for the SAT sub. tests if it kills me.

I have to get enough sleep this year, or else it will age me, I'll be a nervous wreck before even going to college, I'll have gathered thousands upon thousands of hours of sleep debt and finally I'll lose my shit, in three years I will LOSE MY SHIT and they'll keep me in a hospital til I calm down enough to go back out there, and they'll tell me not to stress myself out and I will laugh because what does that mean? It happens no matter what. Or does it?

Maybe I'm wrong.

I hate everything. I love everything. I want to go forward in time. I want to go back in time. I want to stay right here forever.

Conclusion: I can't skimp on sleep this year. I just can't (but I know I will).

I've slept really well the last two days, didn't wake up once in the night, and my head hurts because of that. Still, my sleep's a little fucked.

I'm really excited for the future but I also wanna shoot myself in the face because the future.

My self-esteem fluctuates wildly so sometimes I think I'm a charitable genius and other times I really think I'm too stupid to talk to anyone, and that maybe that's for the best because I'm too self-centered to be deserving of friendship anyway.

I've been having weird dreams, probably because of stress. It's hard to fall asleep, probably because of stress. I'm really, really trying not to be stressed. Wrangling with myself is shit.

I believe in god, but mostly I really don't.

I'm psychic and my dreams are fucking prophetic, but I know I'm not really, my dreams are just subconscious-speak and I can't shove them into a certain mold, can't say this-means-that. Overlap between dreams and reality does not mean there is a connection.

Sometimes I think I'm going crazy, and I think I hear voices whispering at night, just under the fan's white noise, but I can never make out what they're saying. At the same time, I think I'm just stressed and that white noise automatically makes the brain thinks voices are being heard even when they're not. It's just a processing error.

Other times, I think I'm going crazy because I'm pretty sure I see bugs out of the corner of my eye, little flickers in my peripheral, but it could always be my hair or – if I'm wearing my glasses – refraction by the lenses, or it could just be basically anything besides non-existent bugs and I am just being paranoid, as usual.

Sometimes I think I hear someone walking around my house at night and one time I heard my doorknob jiggle just slightly and I went out into the hall to investigate. But again with the white noise. Processing error, crisis mode in the frontal cortex, misinterpretation of the facts, what the fuck ever. Point is, It Is Not Real.

I am just primed for fear, always ready because I'm terrified of dying and I feel close to it since that local kid died.

(it's like sometimes I get close and then I go back to a normal place, a normal distance from the idea of death, and then I think of Elise or something else and I'm back looking into the dark.)

I can die, I can die any moment now and there would just be a black. A darkness. As this one kid said, a kid that I talked to last week, he was all, "You don't even exist to know you don't exist... I can't imagine it," in reference to death and it was like a raw scrape, those words, only I didn't really notice the impact at first – I can't stop thinking about it and I DON'T WANT TO DIE! I don't want that dark. It's not even dark. There's no color, no shade, no nothing, no nothing to even talk about because all the bright lights, the sparks in your head, the electrical impulses, they stop and so you stop and that's where it ends, that's where You dissipate, everything that was YOU just slows to a stop. The ingredients are still there but it just doesn't function anymore, junked up carnival ride being disassembled for parts.

It's absence versus thin air. It is the lack of something that should be there versus an empty space. Absence versus thin air! Absence versus thin air! Over and over in my head! If I were to go and die, there'd be an absence in a few heads: the heads of my family, my friends, people I knew.

But for me: thin air.

Nothing else! There's nothing else! It's all useless, everything that was you is useless. You get recycled because you're broken, deteriorating, and there's no fixing it!

You're dead! You're dead and those words hold no meaning, nothing has meaning, nothing and I really don't want to ever reach this state, ever exist in a place where I can't freak out about not even existing, can't ever know what happened to the memory of who I was as a person or what even happened to the rest of the human race, how we all died off, what it looked like – felt like – when the Earth was swallowed by the sun.

I feel really close to it.

I know I'm not, but I'm also aware that so much is just out of my control and a jet engine could fall into my room and crush me, or I could get hit by a car or I could slip and hit my head or I could fall down the stairs and break my neck or someone could walk into my house for some fun rape-and-murder or I could be caught in a terrorist attack or a natural disaster or a nuclear explosion or I could get cancer or, god damn, I could have a stroke–

Speaking of which: I think I'm going to die of a stroke (I know it's unlikely, I know I know I know, but why doesn't my brain KNOW?).

I mean, some months ago I had this weird moment where I suddenly felt dizzy and I couldn't see right and I couldn't control my mouth and I mixed up the words I was saying and I was very confused, wasn't sure where I was or what was even going on and then I came back and started crying because it freaked me out. I was dizzy the rest of the day. And now I'm all, damn, what if that was a mini-stroke? Those are supposed to suggest a person is in danger of having a full on regular stroke.

...I'm also pretty sure I'm dying of some kind of disease, but then I'm equally sure that I'm totally fine.

Pretty sure I have a deviated septum, but then again: no, I don't.

I'm used to this kind of paranoia. Do I mention it a lot? Because, y'know, it's always there. I think it's leftovers from the GAD, from childhood, from... it's natural for me, is what I mean. It is General Anxiety about anything and everything. I can function like a relatively normal human being because I can ignore this sort of, but like. I guess today I just felt like talking about it. Probably because I had some really strong coffee a couple hours ago, which kind of drags all these accumulated thoughts to the forefront. Usually, I'm aware of them. They're in the corner, they come out when I've relaxed a little and I think this is why it sometimes takes an hour to fall asleep (it's a pain, it's a fucking task, to go to sleep) but still.

They're here to say hello, so... Hi!

Essentially: my life is the same as ever. This is good.

That is all.

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