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It is 95 degrees
July 20, 2019 Saturday 11:48 AM
I didn't think it was hot when I first woke up, but then again I'd been lying comatose for the past ten hours. I've been told I move very little in my sleep. I remember waking a couple of times and feeling my eyes ache and deciding I didn't want to deal with physical pain so I went back to sleep; I remember trying to sleep last night and I would hover on the edge, where I could hear and see things but I was not yet engaging with them. And I couldn't get past that moment because I kept having anxiety about lots of little social occurrences and potential social occurrences. This happened on Thursday night as well, and as a result I've been waking up w/ lungs that feel very cottony and my head is all heavy. My right eye aches.
I have been having bad dreams, but that is not a surprise. Last night's... I think I've already forgotten. I know I was in my old piano teacher, Polly's, backyard—only it was a secret part of her backyard hidden behind a hedge. And there was a squirrel with a little harness and leash on it and when I beckoned it came closer and sniffed my fingers but I don't think I was able to grab the leash. I also had some mundane dreams in which a co-worker Slacked some arbitrary and irritating opinion on a decision that didn't really matter in the end, and it stressed me out to no end because originally I had had the opposite opinion, and now I was questioning whether I was even right to hold that.
Before I go to sleep, I try to imagine Melvin, because even though I don't strictly have a crush on him anymore, I'm still weirdly invested in somehow cultivating a friendship—fully knowing that that probably won't happen. It's a Dan all over again, lmao. Anyway, so I imagine him and hope that when I dream he's there. Because of that one time where I had a dream about him and he kissed me (that was a good kiss) and then he pretty much evaporated and said "I'M NOT REAL," which I find really funny now because, wow, thank you psyche. For ruining everything, including my fantasies. But no, I think I dreamed about him again after that, and so now I have it in my head that I am possibly dream-communicating with Melvin. And even though my subconscious specifically said HE IS NOT REAL I can't help thinking we talk when we sleep.
And yet, when I'm awake, I find him so hard to talk to. We are just not the same. And some people are open to socializing with different kinds of people with different developments in their... I don't know, their humors. Melvin isn't really all that open. He's actually extremely closed off. I am not really. I feel like I could be, quite easily, but it just sucks to do that. For me anyways. Maybe it's nice if you know how to do it in a way that isn't a deliberate attempt to separate yourself from everyone else because you think, at once, that you are unworthy and that no one understands you. Which, man, me too. Still, I do it differently for whatever reason. I can't talk to this guy.
Ah! I just remembered some of my dream from last night. I was in some kind of gameplay thing—Mario style. Bumping my head on shit to get nicer shit. I was very stressed about this. I guess that's all I remember. I thought I caught a glimpse of my family, in the memories of my dreams, specifically my dad and he was in the middle of directing me to do something, but I don't know for sure.
My head hurts. I wonder again if I should kill myself. Not strictly because I want to die, but because I'm tired of, you know, things hurting. But I just read a long essay by a guy who tried to kill himself like 10 times (titled "I'm Still Here" and it is on Huffington Post; the second story in a two-parter about suicide) and in the end he said he was in an okay place. And he was probably going to be in a shitty place again, and he might try to kill himself, and then he'd get back up and things would go on, because what other choice did he have? Of course shit was still hard, but he still had to live.
I feel like that all the time and I wonder when, if ever, it's going to get to me. Like, on a bone-deep level. I get urged, when I'm somewhere lost in the throes of anxiety, and that's the kind of shit that has been dangerous in the past but it isn't anymore. I don't do anything when I'm anxious, I just sit with it and hate myself for... being the way that I am. And sometimes I hurt myself in an attempt to contract my being into a point, and on the other hand because I feel I deserve it, but that only does so much and really I want to get out of there. Get out of here. Get out of everywhere.
It's bullshit and I'm a little mad. I want to be calm when it happens. I want it to be the only choice. I don't want to worry about hurting anyone; I figure I want them to accept some people are too stupid to live. It frustrates me that this prospect is so far away. If handed a gun, I'd throw it across the room—that's how desperate I am to live. Even though it fucking hurts all the time. I don't even really want to be "happy," so to speak. That's not what I think I deserve or whatever—I just want to be okay, you know? I just want to be able to fall asleep without my psyche attacking itself. I want to have a conversation without replaying it in its entirety on my walk home; distorting my own voice and my own phrases until I sound like some creature from the dark.
If it sounds dramatic, that's because it is. Most of the time it's not even like that. The same way I have headaches all the time and I go around living my life like that, I go around with a base level of what was once crippling anxiety and it is FINE. And I am content. I figure, I can live like this. It's worth it.
And then there's now, where I wish it wasn't worth it. But it kind of is. I'm so, so dumb, haha. Gonna go now. My hands are shaking—not from emotion, I actually feel quite calm. I don't know, I haven't eaten in a while. Eating has been my self-harm lately. I've been starving myself and then binging... it's just bad. So my blood sugar is maybe suffering. Bye!