persephone

i woke up late and a little hangover. who told me to drink a little more than two liters of beer AND smoke two joints? oh, that's right. it was me. i've been feeling soooo alone. sooooo alone. soooo lonely. i wanna work but i wanna numb myself more so... yeah, that's happening. i feel better than when i was in crisis, i'll say that.

i'm so tired. can i rest yet? have i worked hard and long enough to deserve rest? that's a scary, raging, disrespectful, intrusive thought i've been having for ages. have i worked hard and long enough to believe i'm actually burnt out? three jobs. i've been doing two of them this week because the fucking a.i. job is wayyyyyy too demanding. they're gonna fire me but i don't care right now. my heart sinks and i feel ungrateful. but forty-plus hours a week on top of two other semi-demanding jobs is a lot. i still gotta go to the grocery store, shower and wash my hair, and buy cigarettes. i hate smoking so much but how else am i gonna relieve the tension in my body? how can i stop when i've been smoking since i was sixteen years old?

bags under my crimson eyes. my stomach's growling. aqua green plastic water bottle. an empty plate with a clean spoon on my desk, next to my left arm. a mayo jar waiting to be opened when my food finally arrives. phone screen shows me the delivery rider map. rider is still waiting for the order. i'm hungry. my stomach's growling. window's wide open and it's dark outside. the tree branches that cover my room from sunlight also hide it from the restaurant's parking lot, its artificial lights at night. rider is on the move. i'm so hungry. desk is full of ashes. thermic cup has seven cigarette butts inside. harry style's first album plays through my speakers. i have a mild headache. i'm a little high, i think my face shows it more than what i actually feel. wearing my blue winter pajamas, i sit on the spinning chair i got at ikea for $40 with one foot on the floor, the other on the chair. knee bends and hits the side of the desk. my foot falls asleep and i'm resting all my weight on my elbows.

i wanna add to the conversation as a zillenial who grew up in a country where instagram was popularized in 2015 (i was 19). in my personal experience, and i'm sure that a lot of other people experience this, posting (and barely taking any pictures at all) feels so much like resistance to an addiction. like, if you know you're a person who gets addicted to vices easily, erasing every trail of your persona feels like a way to protect yourself from the very ugly reactions you have against others' reactions, or lack thereof... posting, and even engaging with content, becomes a mirror. i'm not ready for that. because whenever i expose myself, i get this dreadful feeling that i'll take everything that reflects back on whatever reel, story or post, like it's a judgment of my personal character. even my personal value. engaging with others' content is another thing, because the algorithm pushes content to you that is pertinent to what you've been consuming most in the last day or week. i get hyper-focused on one or two topics (maybe it's the current 5sos tour, or another artist/band i really like, or one time i got flooded with epstein island content), and it constricts my attention. i learn a lot about the certain topic, and then i feel like it's the only thing in my brain. the only thing i can think about all day. my worldview is narrowed. and then, even opening the instagram app feels like an addictive rabbit hole that scares me. it's so shiny and stimulating that you feel immediately falling for its charm. and then it fades so fast because everything is so performative and capitalist that i see right through it. and i see myself in a day or two, being absolutely obsessed with the app. obsessed with watching how other people react, or don't react, to my content. making me susceptible -as someone who gets addicted to vices too quickly and intensely- to question my value as a person. which is something i very much do well on my own.

i'm high because i can't talk to anybody. i've been on my own, in my room, for the past six days because i got a fucking wound in the inside of my thigh and i just can't go out because it hurts too much. i was supposed to go to this gig from a local band i really like and i can't go. it hurts to walk. i haven't had a real, honest interaction in days. ever since i got suicidal on tuesday, i've been acting like everything's fine in all the interactions i get. maybe three interactions this week. that's all the interaction i've had in six days. my therapist didn't reply on time, i didn't go to group therapy, i saw my high school friends last night, they came over. we mostly talked about the two of them. i didn't say anything about me, mostly because i was hoping one of them would bring a story out of me. but they didn't. i asked the both of them the same questions and neither asked me back the same thing. it's fine. if both are overwhelmed by their love life and i'm just feeling like nothing has meaning and i can't talk to anyone, so be it. it feels like i'm a teenager all over again. my mom took me out to lunch today, she had a headache. we went to a crowded place and i just couldn't tell her: well, i was suicidal a few days ago, but i've been numbing myself with weed and alcohol, so i'm fine now. i couldn't say that to her. she would've been soooo worried. and it's not like i'm actively planning to end my life, so... yeah. i've been pretty lonely alone the past week. just work and getting plastered in my room. my roommate's been too busy as well. i hardly see her anymore.

the thing is, i get suicidal when i'm lucid and/or sober. i felt it this morning. i couldn't deal with it. especially with the work deadline and my therapist not replying even though he told me i should call him if i was in crisis. fuck. it got really bad. then i smoked and drank two beers, started and finished the work and now i'm fine. guilty, but fine.

i couldn't do it. i couldn't spend two hours without smoking weed. i was too depressed, too anxious and frustrated and sad and very overwhelmed. so many things to do. i have a wound on my leg because my leggings ripped on the inside of my thigh and the chafing was so bad when i went to the grocery store that when i got home i had a big, nasty wound. it hurts to walk. i ran down to the pharmacy that just opened, just a few feet away from the building (thank fuck, thank you universe). i cleaned the wound and put a medical ointment on it. i feel really scared. really fucking paralyzed by fear. i'm afraid to move in any direction in life. i feel like sylvia plath and the fig tree story. i started rewatching bojack horseman, which is probably not a good idea, because i usually get more depressed when i watch it. but the last few times i watched it, i was mostly amused because i focused more on the comedy of the show. it's 70% comedy, 30% heartbreak. i don't know. i can't think, but i can think a bit more clearly when i'm high. i'm so hungry. walking to the kitchen is painful. ordering food would be worse, with going down the stairs and stuff. i'm listening to madonna because it would be a really bad idea to listen to the music i'm used to listening when i'm depressed. lana del rey and luke hemmings might send me into a bigger spiral. i just love their music so much.