saturday 29.04
It is becoming an addiction, daily, sometimes half days, that I log onto and into and I change a post, the appearance, before I send out the invitation for viewing and I wonder, why, I hesitate and invite people to see and discover. I use the telephone and talk freely with confidants and sometimes a less than active listener about my plan to release thoughts, random, but my thoughts and I explain, almost rationalize my purpose.
The fear prevents me from inviting, the same fear that I convince myself I have battled and lay claim to. The fear to whom I standing with, a sword pointed high to the sky and a boot, larger than size ten, smashing its existence. I stand statuesque. The same fear that keeps me up at night, well into the night, night after night and finally, my body releases and I release and I sleep for a while, an upon awakening, assess my medical and reach for my assortment of pills and shake my head furiously and fast, wondering and calculating and predicting how many more days I can endure, I will be forced to endure. And over and over again, thoughts and conversation are played and the record skips, but continues to play and I listen and cannot shut it down nor off and the sound, the scratching sound is senseless and mine and permanent.
I look deep inside and wonder why, medical science has failed me, why there is no concrete answer, no hope to cling to and I sit with my feet planted, in loose soil, waiting to be transplanted into something more permanent so I can once again be nourished and appreciated for me. I wait, anxiously, and look at the calender and knowing that I am in the moment I try to refocus, but the past and the future stings and the bite tears through the first layer of flesh without hesitation and continues to destroy down further and further.
No phone calls, the phone stops and those that call have become so distant and the excuses, pity excuses sadden me and I know I am alone.
I have been here before and felt this before when I was a teenager. I lost control and punished myself for the loss. I stopped eating and when I did, forced a finger and sometimes three to four times a day, down my throat until the food emptied before me. I played a game for awhile and then it was no longer a game, it was real and I could not stop and my self esteem diminished, my body skeletal, I rose, dusted the dirt of my shirt and put tea tree oil and band aids on ME, my heart and continued without ever really knowing why I hated me so much, why I had no will to exist, but I had will because I wondered and did prosper only to find myself in a situation today, my today, that is eerily reminiscent of the past only this time, there is nothing to bandage and the wounds continue to bleed and slowly but surely, I will be forced to succumb to my eventual mortality. And if only I would here one, not two, but one word of hope, the notion of or a hint in that direction I would start to run, sprint somewhere from nowhere and I would not look back and I would run, destination unknown but it would feel fine.
The fear prevents me from inviting, the same fear that I convince myself I have battled and lay claim to. The fear to whom I standing with, a sword pointed high to the sky and a boot, larger than size ten, smashing its existence. I stand statuesque. The same fear that keeps me up at night, well into the night, night after night and finally, my body releases and I release and I sleep for a while, an upon awakening, assess my medical and reach for my assortment of pills and shake my head furiously and fast, wondering and calculating and predicting how many more days I can endure, I will be forced to endure. And over and over again, thoughts and conversation are played and the record skips, but continues to play and I listen and cannot shut it down nor off and the sound, the scratching sound is senseless and mine and permanent.
I look deep inside and wonder why, medical science has failed me, why there is no concrete answer, no hope to cling to and I sit with my feet planted, in loose soil, waiting to be transplanted into something more permanent so I can once again be nourished and appreciated for me. I wait, anxiously, and look at the calender and knowing that I am in the moment I try to refocus, but the past and the future stings and the bite tears through the first layer of flesh without hesitation and continues to destroy down further and further.
No phone calls, the phone stops and those that call have become so distant and the excuses, pity excuses sadden me and I know I am alone.
I have been here before and felt this before when I was a teenager. I lost control and punished myself for the loss. I stopped eating and when I did, forced a finger and sometimes three to four times a day, down my throat until the food emptied before me. I played a game for awhile and then it was no longer a game, it was real and I could not stop and my self esteem diminished, my body skeletal, I rose, dusted the dirt of my shirt and put tea tree oil and band aids on ME, my heart and continued without ever really knowing why I hated me so much, why I had no will to exist, but I had will because I wondered and did prosper only to find myself in a situation today, my today, that is eerily reminiscent of the past only this time, there is nothing to bandage and the wounds continue to bleed and slowly but surely, I will be forced to succumb to my eventual mortality. And if only I would here one, not two, but one word of hope, the notion of or a hint in that direction I would start to run, sprint somewhere from nowhere and I would not look back and I would run, destination unknown but it would feel fine.
posted by the warrior at 10:56 AM
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