I Am Trying

This post may be long, and not because i’m full of unexpressed creative genius. I am not full of the creativity lately. Mostly because I’m full of the random but overwhelming urge to do a multitude of self damaging and increasingly insane things.

So let’s dig in.

I cut. It happened. I did everything I could to avoid it. I really did.

One night, a few weeks ago, I had a panic attack all the way home from work.

By the time I got home, I had practically bathed in my tears, and my fingers were tingling from the over oxygenation of my blood, which occurs when your brain tells you to gasp for air with all your lung’s might because, despite the knowledge that you really are getting air (because you’d be dead by now, if not) you feel like the world has shoved a giant downy pillow in your face holes.

I’m talking the kind of tear bath where, hours later, you can run your fingers over your skin and actually feel the salt leftover once the water has gone. Crusty, gross feeling, eyeball salt.

I managed not to throw myself out of my speeding car, or crash said car into any immovable objects. I pulled into my driveway, stumbled my way into the house knowing full well I was riding the crazy bus, and grabbed the closest knife.

Then I dropped it on the counter and went upstairs where I laid in bed, and did not move, for 5 hours, except to pet the severely confused cats who came to visit me. The severely confused cats who were, in actuality, wondering why the fuck they hadn’t been fed, and may have been subconsciously waiting for me to die so they could feast upon my tear seasoned flesh.

Anyways…

I laid there until another human being was in the house. Until someone was there to kick my ass if I tried anything stupid. Because, trust me, I know it’s stupid.

And when John got home I was still leaking crazy fluids. I continued to spontaneously leak crazy fluids all night, but I didn’t cut.

Then the next day I didn’t leave the knife on the counter.

Fuck!

And for the next few days I was fine. Totally fucking fine. Except when the doctor asked if my cat had scratched me. And when I had to rummage for pants because all my dresses showed my leg.
And when my husband sighed and held me a little tighter than normal because he was scared.
And when I thought about how long I’d managed to not do that. And how I had laid in bed, unmoving, needing to pee like hell, just to not do that.

Basically, my brain was at war with my emotional state.

Brain: “Stop laughing! knock it off! you have no reason to feel good today. Feel like shit you crazy, unmedicated, self mutilating fuck up!”

Emotions: “Nah man, it’s ok. Really! See, everything’s fine.”

Brain: “Everything is not fucking fine. You carved your leg up. Look at it! Look what you did!”

Emotions: ” Dude, stop being such a prick. It’s no big deal. It’s not like I offed myself. I could’ve offed myself you know.”

Brain: “That is self defeating bullshit and you know it!”

Emotions: “Fuck you. I have Cheetos. Everything’s awesome.”

Brain: “Aren’t you on a diet?”

Emotions: “Damnit!”

And that’s how it do. Lately my brain and my emotions are never simpatico. Never. They just don’t line up. i feel like the world is crashing when everything is fine, and i have unexplained giggling fits when i should be broken. And the whole time my brain’s floating around up there going…

Dude, you are seriously fucked up.

Yeah, brain. I know. I totally and for real, completely know. There just isn’t jack shit to do about it. This body is stuck in bipolar gear right now and it ain’t moving till the engine blows.

I have stalled on any and all decision making. I can’t decide if this is good or not, because I’m not sure if I can trust my thoughts.

Am I putting decisions on hold because I know I’m unstable right now, and it’s not wise to make decisions while unstable….

Or is that actually irrational fear talking, and this is your crazy’s way of putting your life on hold?

Everything from the desire to get my hair cut, to wanting kids, to thinking maybe Pomeranians aren’t so obnoxious (side note: yes, yes they are) comes into question. There’s the possibility of a fucked up subconscious motive for everything when you’re that depressed.

Example: I want to cut my hair. Except, why would I want to do that when I’ve been trying to grow it out? Oh yeah, maybe because you feel hideous and disgusting and just want to see something different, anything different, when you look in the mirror.

Then when you give in and cut it, you beat the shit outta yourself for sabotaging your own goals.

Depression= sabotaging yourself. Get it?

Getting a haircut is a rather shallow and simplistic example, but if that sort of decision can get so magically fucked up, just imagine what happens with big ones.

Anyways, this is where I am. And if I don’t do something soon, this is where I’ll stay.

So I dug up something from my past that always made the world seem a little bit softer.

20130923-171211.jpg

It’s a pillow pallet. A pillow pallet made of every pillow in my house, that takes up about 90% of my living room.

When I was young, before the crazy set in, before my sister and I learned the wonders of hallucinations, and just how shitty human beings really are, we built pillow pallets.

I remember.

I remember we played video games and watched movies together for hours. The floor would be covered in snack remains, and we’d have deep circles under our eyes from lack of sleep, or from squinting too hard while our characters battled on the screen.

20130923-174550.jpg

Before video games we’d play Barbies and Polly Pockets on our pillow pallets. And my sister would construct fabulous flea homes out of shoe boxes, and I’d narrate entire melodramas for my characters, using words most kids my age had never heard of.

We’d hang sheets and prop up walls made of quilts around our pillows and we played house, and our babies (usually played by a stuffed animal, or an extremely patient pet cat stuffed in doll clothes) would lounge on the pillows with us.

Sometimes our Barbies would live in nudist colonies because my stubby fingers couldn’t get the tiny clothes on.
Sometimes our babies would hiss and run for their lives because we were wielding nail polish and lipstick.

Sometimes my sister was faking her happiness, for me, because my sister is 8 years older than me… And the darkness was already coming for her.

But she played with me.

And we laughed.

And we were safe in our pillow fortress. We were safe even though I was already having the death nightmares. We were safe even though I didn’t have friends at school. Because my best friend’s father found out I wasn’t baptized, and she wasn’t allowed to play with me anymore. We were safe, for years.

Even when the darkness came for me too, and I’d wake up to the world sounding different, and my body feeling numb. Before I learned the words to describe what was happening to me.

I remember feeling like the world was ok. I haven’t felt that way in a very long time, but I remember it. It was like magic

And I’m hoping that maybe, just a little of that magic can come back. I just have to remember how to call for it. How to let it back into my life.

I have to at least try.

I amtrying.

And i need to remember… When my brain is screaming and my emotions are beating me into dirt….

I am trying.
I am trying.
I am trying.

And that’s all I can do.

Advertisements

Nightmare Post: Darkness

I wake up in a room. It’s usually a large room, or perhaps a couple consecutive rooms that are not closed off from one another. It’s impossible to tell because it’s pitch black. If there are windows then they have been covered or bricked over. I never find one when i’m searching.

I don’t know how I got there, or how long I’ve been asleep. I usually start by crawling around, feeling the floor around me to get some idea of what’s near me. There’s usually furniture, almost like a living room.

Sometimes while I’m moving around I find a body. I’m too frightened to check for a pulse, but I’m pretty sure they’re dead.

Sometimes there is one door, with a small crack of light seeping beneath it. This door is always locked, and only offers me enough light to make it harder for my eyes to try and adjust.

Sometimes I can’t find anything resembling a door, and I have no idea how anyone could get in or out.

Most of the time I am aware there is someone else in the room as well, but I know they aren’t captive. I can hear them breathing, or the shuffling of feet. I feel as though they can see me somehow, and while I’m moving around trying to find a way out this person will brush against me, poke me, or move items into my path.

I know they are evil, but that’s it. I never get out of the room.

Once, I managed to find a hole in the wall and crawled inside, waiting to see if whoever was watching me would come for me, or perhaps panic that I had escaped and reveal themself.

This nightmare seems to go on forever, and is especially upsetting because when I do manage to wake myself up I’m usually still in a dark room. It also plays on loop, so no matter how many times I wake up I get dropped back into it as soon as I lay down again.

Nightmare Post: Wedding

Most people have dreams that their wedding will get screwed up. I find that to be normal. Thought usually, the screwed up part has something to with their dress, or the food. Maybe their groom leaving them at the altar.

But I’m special.

The dream starts off with me being surprised by a limo. Instead of driving myself apparently my parents splurged and got me this as an extra wedding gift. I hope in to find that my dress is packed in the car.

When the car stops and I get out I realize that we aren’t at the Palace, where my wedding is supposed to be held. I question the driver, but he smiles and says my parents have arranged a second surprise. I go inside and meet my sister who helps me get dressed.

I haven’t heard from John all morning, but assume it’s because he’s goofing off with his grooms men. I ask my sister why I need to get dressed before we go to the Palace, but she will only say that it’ll be too difficult to do it later.

We walk down some stairs into a brightly lit room. The room is gorgeous, with crystal chandeliers and candles everywhere. All of my guests are there.

I still haven’t seen or heard from John.

Despite everyone smiling and congratulating me I’m feeling panicked. They aren’t supposed to be here…why is this going on? Where are my parents?

Eventually a couple people I barely recognize walk me up to the gift table, where my parents are standing.

They congratulate me. I’m freaking out and trying to tell them that the wedding hasn’t happened yet. We’re at the wrong place.

Everyone just keeps smiling. I can tell something’s wrong so I start asking for John. I want to know where he is.

They say he’s not here.

I start yelling at the people around me. He must be at the Palace. We are supposed to be there too.

My Dad says that we aren’t going to the Palace. I start crying, and my mother steps up behind me and cuts my throat with a long silver blade.

It takes a few seconds for me to collapse, and a few minutes for me to die. Everyone keeps smiling, except now they are congratulating my parents.

Like I said, I’m special.

Nightmare Post: Choking

I have god-awful nightmares.

Like the kind of detailed nightmares that would make a therapist assume either that I’m about 5 seconds from combusting into an explosion of contagious crazy fumes  so large and so intoxicating that will in turn trigger the swift end of the world, or that my subconscious is a homicidal maniac.

I’ll never tell which one is true.

mwahaha and stuff.

I also tend to have recurring nightmares. So, in an attempt to curb the most crazy of the crazy, I am going to start writing about them. Maybe you all can share some of your crazy too.

Recurring nightmare # uno:

I’ve had this dream twice in my life. It’s always so vivid and grotesque that I usually wake up feeling nauseated.

It starts off with me and someone I’m seeing walking down the road to my aunt’s house. She lives on the same street as my parents, and at the time of the dream it seems I’m still living with them.

I have this weird ache in my abdomen, but otherwise I seem physically fine. There isn’t any signs of what’s about to happen.

As we approach the house I realize that there’s a large party going on, some sort of cook out, and the majority of my family is there. As soon as I see people I start to get this panicked feeling. Something feels off, but when I try to tell the man I’m with he brushes it off.

Tells me to calm down and walks over to talk to some other people.

As soon as he turns his back I start to choke.  I can feel something hard and sharp scraping its way up the back of my throat, and I’m gagging, trying to throw it up.

It’s so hard to breathe that I’m on the ground and crying. I try to ask someone to help me but all they do is look on and continue with their conversation.

The panic gets worse because whatever it is has lodged its self so that I can’t breathe. My whole body is shaking and I’m heaving, crying. When I cough, small drops of blood sprinkle onto the ground.

No one will help me, so in desperation I open my mouth and push my fingers as far into my throat as I can.  I can feel something there, hard and slimy. I grab it and pull. It cuts my throat coming up and  a long stream of blood runs from my mouth. I look at what’s in my hand and realize it’s a bone.

I throw up, and more blood and various small bones come out. They look like finger bones.

Before I have a chance to ask anyone for help or catch a breath the choking starts again. By this point people are watching me, but no one will help. They seem angry.

I feel whatever’s inside me scraping its way back up. It’s round and solid.  I put my hand to my throat and I can feel where it’s lodged. This time it comes out on it’s own, and it’s a tiny skull.

It’s a tiny baby’s skull.

I start screaming, but I’m bleeding so badly that it comes out as a gurgle. Some of my family watch in silence. Some of them curse at me. I’m dizzy from blood loss.

I continue choking.

By the end of the dream I have thrown up an entire skeleton. I collapse next to the child’s body, bleeding out. I’m dying, but I don’t care. I don’t want to live after that.  The baby is tiny and covered in blood, but there is no flesh. The two times I’ve had this dream, I’ve never managed to wake up before it’s done.