I am convinced this is either my subconscious fears and survival instinct making themselves heard loud and clear or else I am truly going insane.
Today I got extremely fucking high on a combination of psych meds (prescribed to me, but they have interactions w alcohol and I'm not supposed to drink on them), otc things to potentiate, weed, and alcohol. I then had sex. The person with whom I was having sex morphed into nature, the universe, all the beings and energy that are and ever were and said to me - amongst other things that I forgot - the gist or tail end of it was 'myopy, we need you here. we need you to stay'. Immediately I thought I was hallucinating so I asked them to repeat themselves.
Turns out they had felt some recent scars and decided I should hear that message. Strange thing was, I hadn't told anyone in my life that I was planning on killing myself. And self harm and suicidality are rarely correlated for me like that. But it was the message I wanted to hear regardless - even as much as a part of me wished I had assurance from the universe that I could bid this existence farewell in peace. For a moment I panicked about broadcasting my thoughts. What if everyone could read them? Then realised I'd have been sectioned far sooner were that the case.
Also may have had a(nother) seizure or few. Body ticks like a clock. Shivering but not with cold - spasming perhaps. If I concentrate I can make it stop. I can speak with effort. Happens only with the drugs though, never sober. Likely serotonin something or other in combination with drugs that reduce the seizure threshold. Oh well. Perhaps I am one step closer to making a full psychotic break. Or perhaps this is the manifest drama of the subconscious battling its way to the foreground.
As much as I want to believe that feelgood bullshit, everything is empty and pointless. The entertainment - back to where everything is overcast in a menacing fog. Demonic subtexts rattle through every song, movie, or piece of media that ought to be silly and fun way to pass the time. Nothing is comforting - it all taunts and pokes sharply at me. Nowhere is safe. I have no one and nothing to rely on. Nothing works. Food becomes another plastic endeavour. There were brief flashes these past few days where I was more hopeful. At least in the time I have left, I thought, I will do things and live. Nope. Not the fate suited for a useless disappointment fount of poison such as I. Every moment is filled with a hollowness all my frantic efforts at distraction barely keep away. Eating disorders really aren't about food. After my regular meals I was so lonely and exhausted and bored I ate yesterday until I couldn't stand up and then I puked and did it all over again. And then I ate some more. And did it again today. Now I'm too full to sleep but haven't the energy to bother puking.
I don't ever know what day it is anymore. They blend together like watercolours. A canvas the artist abandoned for an early afternoon smoke. Do I have a self? I think I am just a reflection of those around me. I am a black hole adorned with mirrors.
I just want to curl into a dark corner and be held and rejuvenated. The first bite - the register - the hit - the release - the line - no longer rewards. I chase the rush but I've run out of tokens to redeem in this cosmic game, neurotransmitters be damned. Ensconced in my cocoon of eternal unconsciousness I will emerge the other side a crumpled butterfly, wings wet and heavy dragging me down. I will fall into the sky. Mortals may or may not weep. They will become more complex beings. The world will continue to orbit. Why should less than a kilo of grey flesh turn down such a lucrative offer? A moment of peace eschewed for hope - insanity. She is a swift and elusive dragon indeed.
Apologies if none of this makes sense. My sober ramblings are those of a lunatic. Right now I'm still quite fucked up. I'm half trying to be poetic and half merely spurting whatever comes to mind. Though I may purge mind and body of all its contents, short of total annihilation and rebuild I will never be clean. I may be blanker than snow and still I will be dirty. There is no place for me here or anywhere. I only wish sleep would overtake me sooner.
Today I got extremely fucking high on a combination of psych meds (prescribed to me, but they have interactions w alcohol and I'm not supposed to drink on them), otc things to potentiate, weed, and alcohol. I then had sex. The person with whom I was having sex morphed into nature, the universe, all the beings and energy that are and ever were and said to me - amongst other things that I forgot - the gist or tail end of it was 'myopy, we need you here. we need you to stay'. Immediately I thought I was hallucinating so I asked them to repeat themselves.
Turns out they had felt some recent scars and decided I should hear that message. Strange thing was, I hadn't told anyone in my life that I was planning on killing myself. And self harm and suicidality are rarely correlated for me like that. But it was the message I wanted to hear regardless - even as much as a part of me wished I had assurance from the universe that I could bid this existence farewell in peace. For a moment I panicked about broadcasting my thoughts. What if everyone could read them? Then realised I'd have been sectioned far sooner were that the case.
Also may have had a(nother) seizure or few. Body ticks like a clock. Shivering but not with cold - spasming perhaps. If I concentrate I can make it stop. I can speak with effort. Happens only with the drugs though, never sober. Likely serotonin something or other in combination with drugs that reduce the seizure threshold. Oh well. Perhaps I am one step closer to making a full psychotic break. Or perhaps this is the manifest drama of the subconscious battling its way to the foreground.
As much as I want to believe that feelgood bullshit, everything is empty and pointless. The entertainment - back to where everything is overcast in a menacing fog. Demonic subtexts rattle through every song, movie, or piece of media that ought to be silly and fun way to pass the time. Nothing is comforting - it all taunts and pokes sharply at me. Nowhere is safe. I have no one and nothing to rely on. Nothing works. Food becomes another plastic endeavour. There were brief flashes these past few days where I was more hopeful. At least in the time I have left, I thought, I will do things and live. Nope. Not the fate suited for a useless disappointment fount of poison such as I. Every moment is filled with a hollowness all my frantic efforts at distraction barely keep away. Eating disorders really aren't about food. After my regular meals I was so lonely and exhausted and bored I ate yesterday until I couldn't stand up and then I puked and did it all over again. And then I ate some more. And did it again today. Now I'm too full to sleep but haven't the energy to bother puking.
I don't ever know what day it is anymore. They blend together like watercolours. A canvas the artist abandoned for an early afternoon smoke. Do I have a self? I think I am just a reflection of those around me. I am a black hole adorned with mirrors.
I just want to curl into a dark corner and be held and rejuvenated. The first bite - the register - the hit - the release - the line - no longer rewards. I chase the rush but I've run out of tokens to redeem in this cosmic game, neurotransmitters be damned. Ensconced in my cocoon of eternal unconsciousness I will emerge the other side a crumpled butterfly, wings wet and heavy dragging me down. I will fall into the sky. Mortals may or may not weep. They will become more complex beings. The world will continue to orbit. Why should less than a kilo of grey flesh turn down such a lucrative offer? A moment of peace eschewed for hope - insanity. She is a swift and elusive dragon indeed.
Apologies if none of this makes sense. My sober ramblings are those of a lunatic. Right now I'm still quite fucked up. I'm half trying to be poetic and half merely spurting whatever comes to mind. Though I may purge mind and body of all its contents, short of total annihilation and rebuild I will never be clean. I may be blanker than snow and still I will be dirty. There is no place for me here or anywhere. I only wish sleep would overtake me sooner.
