2018-05-15 23:57:57 (UTC)

thought underskin

"Watering" by Big Thief

He followed me home again
And his eyes were watering
His eyes were watering
Like a child
I made-believe for him
That my blood was dripping
My blood was dripping into
His mouth
He cut off my oxygen
And my eyes were watering
As he tore into my skin
Like a lion
I knew it was poison
As he filled me to the brim
And my blood was dripping
Like a lamb
Leave your bedroom light on
I live to watch you undress
And you know that I'm there
As you soak in my stare
With your right arm
Come to me
Come to me
Come to me

May 15, 2018 11:59 PM

I can tell I am bothered when I speak soundless in the mirror. I look up, examine my lips and the shape of my face as I take, the changing shape of the skin around my eyes—I am talking about something, usually arguing about something with myself and/or an imaginary person based off of a real person. And the myself version of me is also a person based off the real me, but it is not me. Sometimes it is hard to see that.

Here is how today went: I woke up a little more than twelve hours ago, I went to work, I came back, I showered, I socialized a little, picked up a package, socialized a little more, and went back to my room to eat my food at 4:30 PM. That was my first and only meal today, but it was a big meal as far as meals go: a sandwich, and then I ate like two cups of goldfish and later I had a very small snickers bar (it only had the S on it because that's all it could fit) and a mini twix and an hour after that a cup of Chobani pomegranate yogurt—which I ate with a plastic knife because I had no spoons.

From sometime past five to almost ten at night, I sat in the lounge at the neighboring dorm watching Futurama and then Icarus (I only saw a little less than half). For a bit, a kid I sort of know (he is good friends with Goose) sat with me, but then he left. I was very sad and lonely. I saw Moby today and I missed him. It is like a knife that just misses my arm, cuts the hair off. I get so mad: sometimes I'd rather just bleed and bleed and bleed and bleed. The whole day was empty: empty, empty. No one was available to be around me and cure me of the weird shadowless hurt I kept experiencing. I hate this. The only time I don't hurt is when I am going from social situation to social situation.

It is not unlike me, but I think it looks unlike me because I used to be alone all the time. And I am still alone much of the time. I used to think I liked that, and I don't think I realized I was lonely. Or maybe I did and I just can't remember, choose not to remember for some semblance of development, of learning.

I don't want to be alone. Being alone --> I think too much --> I get sad. I can't stop. I can't be alone, maybe. Is that a problem? Karina asked me the same question, said she hates being alone, says she hates being in her room while awake, feels trapped. Is that a problem? I said it's okay to want to be around people, but if you can't be around yourself then—maybe. Maybe it's a problem. Is that a problem? I don't know self—can we be around each other? I don't know. Not for very long. I think too much. I get to thinking too much. Is that a problem too?

I have a bruise on my arm, a bruise on my arm, a thought bleeding under skin. It's from Nadiya. Long story. I love the bruise. I hit my hip today and found a small bruise when I went to the bathroom earlier. Then I hit it some more in the hopes it would grow and get purple. It is the same way I sometimes don't eat just to feel myself starve; or how I drink too much so that I run into walls; or how I stab myself with the tips of mechanical pencils and plastic forks while I'm studying or watching movies. Or how I dig my nails into my skin when I need to center a thought in my hands and not my head anymore.

I don't know why I do this exactly. I don't know what I want from these actions. A chance to become unfocused, to change focus.

I am tired all of a sudden. I have to be up at 6 AM for work. Goodnight. God—I hate being alone.