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what a shameful feeling it is to be so profoundly broken around someone infinitely wholesome in the same exact places. what a shameful feeling it is, to do the job of explaining to the clueless, explaining something so atomic to your own existence you can barely distinguish the do from the be, and to be met with this. friendly incomprehension. genuine desire to understand one such as yourself, the wretched thing, the abomination.
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OKAY i will admit this post is me admitting it. i really don't wanna tell my wife bc i am not at home and the usual arrangements are impossible. and if i tell anyone they will just be worried, ergo possibly more prepared but will pay for it in immediate stress (on top of regular stress from being working people). i could tell m., but she's in another city. moot point. so im writing it down. i will delete it if i deem it unsightly later, after different fear overcomes me.
whatever happened to me last summer? the mild psychotic episode? about 18 hours of percieved "sitting inside a meat robot" and being unable to say shit for unknown reasons? it's like that again but THE DIFFERENCE is i can talk in riddles now!!! no paranoïa, or maybe like... 10% paranoïa. for example this post is uncomfortable, but i seem to have had retained many of my analytical skills. they tell me it's semi-fine i can afford this post. i also had one hallucination then (i think it might have had been pareidolic, but like pareidolia usually doesn't affect me at all and that one scared me shitless) and nothing like that happened yet.
THE SIMILARITY between now and then is
- fucking nicotine withdrawal. i knew it i knew it. this time im very kind to myself and i only reached 2 week mark because i had bronchitis dammit. baby will go to hookah bar next tuesday okay baby?
- infatuation/obsession. luckily this time it's not a living breathing person, but rather a concept. i don't forsee collateral.
- my (trustworthy) therapist is on vacation. i do not discuss stuff like this with my other doctors. you know. i dunno if they can hospitalize me against my will, i think they don't, but im not risking even a remote possibility.
- whatever i feel when i feel a migraine aura, the neurological thing that makes my skin tight, an uneasy sinking feeling of exhilaration? it's here, 3 days and ticking.
- overcomplicated relationship to language returned. like have you noticed ï in paranoïa that's a neutral behavior, but i don't completely control it. commas, apostrophes, verbosity, unusual syntax.
- higher than normal libido like i know that's pain compensation you're not fooling me buddy.
tumblr activity levels have risen because i am stuck in a hotel room. i could get out, but it's one of the fancier ones so the restaurant is shit & the location is shit too (i can't stress enough how unwalkable everything is and how it's evident i am supposed to take taxi from here). it's no biggie since i hate this city anyway and wouldn't mind to go back home already (i am staying for a week).
everything gives off boomer vibe. like you can only order room service via phone call. why not a humble site, gentlemen? i have time to kill. service people all give off butler vibes and use non-neutral identifiers for me that are both heavily gendered and border on honorifics. their script is insane too.
i have both a separate shower room And a bathtub, but like... no minifridge or kettle. the room is small-ish but still ridiculous. i have questions about the floor plan, i have questions about interior design choices, i have some percieved answers and boy howdy i dislike them.
i would have never chosen this hotel if i had to pay for it outta my own pocket. it will be a long week.
the life is abominably the same and insufferaby different (as always). update:
we started massive, gargantuan ass of a renovation project. "we" as an all of my six housemates including me, our lethargic scaredy cat of a geriatric landlady who is extremely afraid of spending money despite being well-off but in a good natured way of someone who evidently lived in a less than suitable conditions in formative years and our master who is like my dad's age, talks in fucking riddles, made me cry twice for non-assholish reasons (my ego takes double damage from members of his social group).
the renovation we started was not a flight of fancy but three semi-emergencies (notably, bathroom tile unstuck from the wall that is about to fall on someone's head). the shit costs a lot. i am enduring a facsimile of my father in my bathroom everyday. the logistics and communication between this amount of people? not easy even when rapport is good and rapport is dowright bad with landlady (panicks if you mention numerals) and master (never tells you numerals if you ask about them directly).
as if it wasn't enough change i think i finally see a possibility to attack a very old construct, that's neither good nor bad but possibly both good and bad to my inner workings, integrity, and the like. we call shit like this "trait of character" more often than not and it's not the same as giving away a coping mechanism that stopped serving you well. shit's still usable.
that might mean that as far as existential problems go i worked through my more or less pressing matters and am left with chronic stuff. which is a thing to be proud of, certainly. but also scary af, because it means i must live my life now and i have not the faintest clue how. i just don't know.
have been painting for the whole fucking day, and then had a mind-blowing massage. literally drooled. relaxation i previously achieved but only by smoking weed or possibly by especially memorable orgasms. still don't know why that happened. it is possible i am living so well now that i am able to relax for no reason at all. barely managed to write these sentences. absolutely no desire or will left to make myself think.
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the task of archiving and organizing the archive is as daunting as it is rewarding. to suddenly meet past as is in its unalloyed form, or should i say to meet the past me (pl) in their (mine) unalloyed form and notice all the little lies i soothed myself with along the way is to go skinny dipping in the neurotic pool. but to know i lied to myself is to subsequently know the rejection i suffered from myself, which is not how we do things around there.
after i recover from the blow i just keep telling myself: im gonna so better. im gonna be more accepting, less judgmental. the terror is as finite as any feeling. but for the devil's crippling fuck i am going feral here.
i have been sane (by which i mean i haven't unpromptedly consorted with primordial beauty in a manner that later put me in an anhedonic shock) for a week now and the only special effect that hasn't left me is my sheer inability to dissociate normally. im just rawdogging it all again man, be it the 3hr waiting queue or terrifying movie night. i guess it's an ideal time to limit social behavior that feels useless or harmful but while i can opt out of most movie nights i most certainly don't join queues for fun. so.
over the top feelings. i want to take the edge off and im doing it by introspecting, understanding, feeling the necessary stuff about it, the usual. but the over the top feeling is there again next morning. it's getting more enjoyable though so i take it my ability to feel joy is getting better.
the feeling of wanting to die is there but it's getting smaller than i
the aftermath of this shitshow is quite literally me sitting there in my fancy corner thinkfeeling "i want to/should kill myself" and then saying "do we think maybe a vegetable would cause less despair" and then eating salted corn for like an hour. my friends are accomodating but i can only do what they wanna do and contribute nothing to society. luckily people love doing what they wanna do. sudden crying and trying to explain to m. i will not have a chance to die as a poet-god for at least a year again is a bummer though. feeding oneself is so hard and cumbersome. everything is worthless. then again this will probably last for 30 minutes and then i remember how to laugh again and be somewhat helpful. this is so strange like walking thru the waterfall that never ends. if it stays i will start antidepressants again but i can already feel it waning. the feeling of inadequacy is not a byproduct of me. it's probably a reaction to how people treated me anf nothing more. but nothing less, either. i want to/should kill myself but my corn is almost ready. goddamit i love corn.
