new skin boots
"Pitseleh" by Elliott Smith
March 3, 2020 7:33 PM
It's time to pull on my new skin boots. and unroll the tops. They are thigh-highs. Hip-highs. ok, neck-highs, really.
Tomorrow is a day, a day in which a day is a day. I will wake up (tired) go to class (less tired) study (tired again) go cook Blin for a Russian dept event (sleep? who is she?) eat those (sleep...) go home (how am I still hungry?) do homework (i have to pee. ill drink more tea. i have to pee).... stop doing homework (to pee, ostensibly) for much longer than I should... continue... be up too late (tired)...
What am I doing? I need to think about some things. Specifically, some things about other peope. No, that's not very specific at all. I am having a very hard time being honest lately. Or precise. Not honest, precise. No, not precise, ugh...
This is what happens sometimes. The suspect is: the gaping hole where my scar tissue once bubbled, distended over that buried mass of hardened bacteria, now injected with steroid and now this flat and shiny, dipped little valley of false skin on my body. And I'm like, "Huhhh?!?!?" But the answer is simple: who cares? No, wait, that's a question.
The answer is simple: there's nothing there. Wait actually I'm unsure as to what the question was.
The whole point being: if you ask me how I am doing or who I am, i think I will be equally confounded, but the general sentiment, more or less, is that it doesn't matter; it doesn't matter what kind of dormant disease is brewing in there, mostly because I don't believe there's anything left anymore, which is very dramatic and likely untrue. I am making a lot of nontrue nowhere noplace statements.
In my head the two words "same place" are actually the components of another single word, sameplace. And there is a similar word, known as everyplace.
It's been a while since I've sifted through my thoughts. Clearly, I am going to have to get used to the chaos again, because I am not doing a good job filtering. Although I wonder if that is so much an atrophied skill or just what I, for some reason, wish to convey to day. Not that I'd have any idea either way; I am really not privy to the inner-workings so much lately. I think I am changing, which is really scary. It wasn't scary until just now when I realized that I think I'm different. I've been thinking I'm different, but I haven't really believed myself, I just thought it was a convenient way to explain my unfamiliarity with being... not-depressed.
And maybe it is still that, but part of me is worried my brain chemistry is slowly being altered by this medication, which would be fine, because it would mean I can stop being stupid, but also it would mean—it does mean that I need to find something to fill the space it leaves behind.
Which feels stupid to me (oh, look at that? It seems I've gotten past the initial confusing mess of my introspection—we're back at it babeeeyyy!). It feels stupid because I've been not-depressed plenty of times in the past, and I've functioned fine, probably. I know it's always been a vaguely disconcerting state; there is always the concern that the tomorrow will be vastly different from the today. In other words, there is little security in the self. And on the other hand, the longer I'd go alone as a stable entity (with some minor hiccups), the more I'd be pushed into finding new subjects with which to occupy my mind—things that aren't, you know. Anxiety.
My point is, I would FIGURE that I had already found... whatever it is,... to fill the shallow trench left behind by my own chaos. And if I haven't yet done that, it makes me wonder, why I have been identifying so heavily with the concept of a mentally ill person, a chronic/episodic experience which... Well, okay, *why* is not the right question. I know why. It's because this is the thing that has shaped my existence most heretofore. It is not as influential *this week.*
I might be getting ahead of myself then. I don't know. I know I felt bad and apathetic last week on Monday and Tuesday (missed class all of Tuesday), but in general, things feel better.
This is good. This is very good. I am not complaining. I don't seen any problem with this, but when I went to therapy, I found I had nothing to talk about and it scared me??? I had absolutely nothing, I was empty. I was empty. Not sad, not happy, not anxious, just empty. Content? It was scary!!! It's not a new feeling, probably. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I feel like I say that all the time. In which case: hi, my name is veronica, I still don't know anything, lol.
Anyway, I'm sorry for all this ranting, which I am not even sure makes a lot of sense. Just hoping to get this off my mind before I get a-grindin' on my homework tonight. As I said, in general, I feel good. Things are good. I'm cleaning the apartment regularly again :) my desk is now a viable study space :) it's the little things!!!!!!!