May Be Habit Forming @everysting - Tumblr Blog

A 40+ year-old that I slept with very drugged/drunk/depressed sent me a "drawing he'd done" of me today after multiple months of no contact. Not sure what is ever happening with my life, but I needed some place to save this.

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A Season In Hell

Too warm to lie in bed anymore so just walk around til I’m tired enough to lay down again. I haven’t felt this bad for a very long time, never for this long. I need to escape this city, find a new job, make friends, wake the fuck up or ideally just bed down and let myself die. Far beyond pity, therapy twice a week and FOUR different fucking medications in ten months, nothing is working. Try killing it with alcohol, drugs, sex, starvation, sleep, old habits don’t die and somehow neither do I. Call out of work, overspend sick days, no excuses- my last remaining effort.

Fell from so high and smashed so hard, every piece is thin, a fragment, exactly that, not even a metaphor, just a broken record with deepening grooves, repetitive, reflective, a mirror shard showing the copy of the copy of whatever idea of stability I’m even attempting to imagine.

#24 #bipolar disorder #or just wanting to die in general #i hate everything

Fucking miserable and indifferent.

Perched in my treehouse in a tiny room in an anonymous area of Queens, I am nobody, that’s ok because I am so goddamn tired. Tired of being broke, tired of being crazy, sleepy, sleepy. Spend my days working working working then drinking drinking drinking, run a few times in between. Better than it has been but still not good. I had a seizure last week, followed by hours of tremors and a very foggy mind. I was sober, doing as my doctor says but I tried to take a shower and ended up crawling out, hands over feet, a crab, because I don’t want to die like that (naked, fat, ugly, any other way is fine). According to Dr R, I am severely lonely, as if I didn’t know. But that recognition by a professional made me wild, drugs in the early morning with a dumb boy I’d given up long ago. Drinking all day on the days off. At least the sun is out.

(I know this is badly written but I can’t bring myself to care)

#I should #notebook

“Nothing hurts except for everything.“

I just wrote that, I’ve wrote it before.

Sometimes I close my eyes and enter this strange half-sleep, nothing beyond consciousness, I can see and I can feel. Here I am.

This isn’t where I should be, this isn’t even where I am in bad dreams, save me, pull me screaming, at this point just hurt me. I can’t tell.

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I don’t know what to write here, I haven’t known what to say so I’ve neglected this, favoring subway scribbles. Apparently writing freehand in public is scary to those watching, just my stuff, I’m dark, a specter, nightmares bleed pretty. My best friend (my cousin, my childhood mirror) is marrying a stranger, and believe me when I say-- this isn’t a euphemism for anything-- my BEST FRIEND IS HAVING AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE. I can’t process it so I drink and fuck and sleep and work and pretend that everything is so normal that nothing hurts. Nothing hurts except for everything.

"It's your birthday?" asks this well-meaning deli clerk when I ask for the deemed-important-enough-to-be-behind-the-counter "Birthday Cake M&Ms".

"No, I wish", I sway, I stagger, I'm drunk, I'm buying beer after drinking the rest of a bottle of whiskey that I stole from a boy who passed out after we slept together.

Ran home in that victorious dawn.

I can't eat anything but sugar now, immediate energy, perfect and sweet. I'd get so fat if I didn't care, didn't run six miles in the freezing cold morning, more a punishment than meditation at this point. Old news.

Imagine that.

I haven't seen my friends in over a month, can't blame them (it's cold, we're busy, we're adults). I've been so sick and so hurt, broken ("actually", "literally", two words I hate but that I must exploit at this writing, do you need a doctor's note?) and sick, lazy, sad, embarrassed.

I'm doing so well on paper but yesterday I burnt myself on cheap hot wax. A day off is no excuse to fuck a drug dealer, cocaine isn't part of my 'personal narrative', right?

I walk home, freezing, high, hating.

"You're not somebody I doubt about sick days, you're too sweet." Cringe and fake it.

Walk around the city for two hours and pray not to do anything stupid.

#february 25 2015 #diary #wellbutrin #cocaine #boys #shit #promiscuity #hell #venlafaxine #bipolar disorder #just being honest

Seeing my brother for the first time in over a year tomorrow. Process, process, hide and freeze.

berelvis-deactivated20200704

Fell down my apartment stairs, an indoor injury during a snowstorm, bruised my bones, tore my muscles, imagining meat, fork and knife. Got painkillers that I thankfully didn't develop a taste for, no drinking for a bit, just achy shame. Discovered two books that I'll deem important, sent one author a thankful and worried e-mail because I wasn't sure if I was reading or writing those words, received a response that made me humbled and slightly scared. More as this develops, maybe. I've been better but I'm usually much worse.

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fables-of-the-reconstruction-de

FEELING: The one where you got too drunk at a party and all you want is one cigarette, and someone finds you a cigarette or you go across the street to the bodega to buy 18 cigarettes you’ll never smoke and two you will, and you’re standing slightly apart from everyone and letting the nicotine run...

Trying

A few things are going wrong (notably, unimportantly, is my ability to access this website), but lately more is turning my way, I'm finding myself with better cards to play, a lighter touch, wider eyes. A major step forwards and only a shuffle back. I'll try to stay updated here more often but I've never kept a promise I didn't consider breaking.

#2015

alonesomes

I get reckless when I want to be touched. I call and hang up. I walk into the middle of the street. I lie. I dangle my phone out of the second story window, pretend I’m saving your life. The things that I want are shameful. The things that I want are meant for spectacular bodies sprawled out in big beds, or slammed up against a wall. All I’ve got is a couch and a crooked mouth that wants to bruise your neck, so I’ll pretend it’s enough to get you to come home with me. So what if I’m not spectacular? I can still have the dream of you with your hands all over me, unashamed and hungry, if I want it. Look, just come over. Just go with me here, for a second. I know you don’t love me. I know this, but pretend. Pretend for a while. I don’t care if I’m special, as long as you fuck me like I am.

Caitlyn Siehl, Spectacular Bodies (via alonesomes)

tallforest-deactivated20161013

But me, maybe I fit in a place like this. Maybe the cold inside of me will seem less cold in this winter. Maybe the tall buildings will make the brick walls I build for myself seem smaller. Maybe the noises in my head will quiet down in the middle of all the other noises. Or maybe my cold and walls and noise will get worse.

Witch Baby (Missing Angel Juan)

hotdaughter-deactivated20140329

choke me

not sexually

like actually kill me

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Enter this weird segment of my life where I’ve been alone for five months, crazier than ever but moving fast, forward. In control but wild, best jobs, money but misuse. Bad bad boys, drugs, maybe most reckless. See me nursing a cocaine hangover my second day at the biggest museum in the country, ok, dealt with worse. It’s not like I’m begging for company, maybe the opposite. What can you offer me via you via experience, I sound so goddamn stupid. Just somebody prove to me that anything, good or bad is worth me being here, being. Trying so hard to keep it together while at the same time just giving up and forgetting that I’ve ever held a softer hand.

Exhausted, delusional, overwhelmed, overworked, desperate, manic, not dead

#update #october

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