Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Schizopath, or How I Built the Bomb.

I've been speeding up the process of what feels like losing my mind.

In reality, I think it's actually 'feeling' things for, like, the first time ever.
Fucking disgusting.
I'm terrified that the future is 'nothing.' My future. That I'll play out this teen angst depression/avoidance bullshit till I take my forever nap.

I'm tired of thinking decisions are precious little fucking little precious things that are too important & precious to make. I'm bitter that I really will never be 20 & beautiful & tall & stupid. And happy. And EVERYTHING.
I built my house of cards on everyone understanding that I was 'cool.' Extra Special. There's 20 yrs worth of new girls breaking new ground in that area everyday. And I pulled a geographical & don't even have a local fan club anymore (poor me. ME ME ME ME ME MEEEEEEEE).

You know you've hit a dark point when you wish you would have gotten married drunk or knocked up as a teenager just so you didn't have to sit and stare at those things like they are some mortifying coin flips that will magically grow you up, possible kill you, be everything you wanted, or simply elude you like everything else normal & not nearly as stifling as you'd like to think.

I've spent my whole life barely covering some very basic reactionary needs. Like simply not being alone.
Now, I genuinely love someone. Someone who 95% of the time seems specifically made for me in ways I could have never even allowed myself to dream of in the past. I naturally magnify that other 5% (it's a tricky 5%, lemme tell you) and live in fear of slipperiness, the weather, and most of all, myself. My aging, smarty pants, too short and not gorgeous self. It's a big world filled with NOT MEs. How could anyone resist that?

One of my good old fall-back eating disorders started to pop up today & I also talked about getting hair extensions. Especially bad signs if you are over 35, have never actually had hair extensions, and are coming around to believe that your former anorexic grandmother may have actually always been right: everyone who weighs 100 lbs (or under) really is happier.

I used the word 'schizopath' in a conversation today completely by accident (wasn't quick enough deciding between 'schizo' and sociopath). My best friend & I instantly loved it, wondered if it was a real word & discovered it's a band on MySpace (good for them).

Anyway, turns out I have a schizopath-sized hole in my soul that gets 95% filled each day. Now if it will just be mine forever..