I have such ridiculous titles. I enjoy the ridiculous. I am the ridiculous. I have strange thoughts, strange desires. I was hitting the empty streetcar seat in front of me, for a minute or so on the way home. I do not know why. These impulses to interrupt reality fascinate me. What are they, and why? I can’t know, right now at least, but there they are. Is it just some warped form of creativity? Is insanity just artistry gone awry? It makes sense.
One of my friends was in the dark place today. When it’s someone I care about, I so intensely want them to see the light, though I constantly lose sight of it myself. I want to tell them why we need to keep on struggling, surviving, getting out of bed each day, keeping away from the pill bottles and blades and high buildings and whatever else, but I don’t know why. I know it’s important, but I don’t know why. I know that my life, that every life, has a huge impact on the world around them, and that each individual is important, but I cannot express what that importance is. I want to. There are, however, those moments when the chaos settles and we see what remains, or eventually, what we are able to rebuild or rediscover, and we feel whole again, we see that life is worth living again. They are precious few and rare, but they exist, I know they exist. How to create little miniature versions of that for the everyday, for the dark days?
Few people I know have loved life as much as I have. Why in the past tense, why not “love life.” We’re going through a rough time. We might break up. Ha ha. No, no, that’s not where I am today. I hope that’s not where you are today, dear reader. And if you are, google your local crisis line.
They (hospital folks) asked if I would go to the hospital or call 9/11 if I felt suicidal. I said yes. I know I wouldn’t. When I’m really there, when I’m really on board with it, I never reach out, because I am taken over by this other thing, from which I cannot escape. They asked if I felt possessed. I hesitated to say yes, because it’s not quite the right word, but it’s the closest thing. It’s not that I become possessed, but rather that I change into something else, but the original me is still in there, waiting for a window of opportunity to alert someone to the danger. I just want to eat until I die. Ha ha. Is that possible? Ugh, no, I hate the feeling of having eaten too much. Too bad binge eating isn’t as sexy as the other eating disorders. Of course, eater disorders are far from sexy. They scare me greatly, but from what I know of self-harm, there is that sense of pride about starving onesself. There is no pride in that extra cupcake.
I went to the mall today, to wander a bit. I know it’s bad when I go to the mall. I hate malls. I do enjoy looking at various colourful things though. I bought jeans and a sweater. They were on sale. Life goes on. Mmm, I want chow mein. I am scared to look at my bank balance. Or my credit card balance. Oh dear. Youth is foolish indeed.
Peanut butter sandwich. Ridiculous articles on Buzzfeed. Perhaps this is what my treatment schedule has been lacking. Why has no one thought of combining internet goofishness with the glory or peanut butter sandwiches? I may be losing my mind, but I can still appreciate peanut butter sandwiches. I shall cover myself in peanut butter and bake myself into a loaf. Peanut butter loaf, I haven’t heard of that before. Warm peanut butter. And honey! Yes. Suffocation by peanut butter. That would be dreadful, it’s so thick. I am combining two of my passions- suicidal ideation and peanut butter. Here’s to innovation, and goofy bits of humour that help me get through the deep waters of my murky mind.