2004-03-21 - 12:52 a.m.
What. The. Fuck.
I was really happy tonight, the happiest I've been in months maybe, and the second I saw my house I fell straight on to the opposite end of the spectrum.
Hysterical crying. Wailing. Moaning. Hyperventilating. Think "Angst Burger With The Lot".
This was me all of a minute and a half ago, until a poster I have of the brain caught my eye and I read aloud about the circulation of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF).
I have no idea what's going on with me. I know, I also hear the voice saying "bring the girl some prozac and tell her to shut up already".
If you talk yourself down enough there is bound to be a point where you throw yourself up, so maybe that was mine.
Now I'm all scarily calm. Vaguely and creepily reminiscent of someone soon to get homicidal or suicidal or regicidal or genocidal.
Deadly seriousness as I think, this has to end. I will not do this to myself anymore. It is counterproductive. It is immature.
I will not look at my reflection and say that she is not enough.
I will not look at my life and take only pain from it and tell myself that I deserve no more.
No more.
I will try to revolutionise my head, spin it 180 degrees and tell it to start again.
Something has to change in me right now, because I can't live with it otherwise, I absolutely point blank refuse to.
You know that expression? Inside every fat girl is a skinny girl waiting to get out? I think inside me is something I spend far too much of my time pushing down, and her time needs to come now if the unit wants to survive.
Whether this will translate into something good, or into anything at all when tomorrow arrives, is anybody's guess.
I was really happy tonight, the happiest I've been in months maybe, and the second I saw my house I fell straight on to the opposite end of the spectrum.
Hysterical crying. Wailing. Moaning. Hyperventilating. Think "Angst Burger With The Lot".
This was me all of a minute and a half ago, until a poster I have of the brain caught my eye and I read aloud about the circulation of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF).
I have no idea what's going on with me. I know, I also hear the voice saying "bring the girl some prozac and tell her to shut up already".
If you talk yourself down enough there is bound to be a point where you throw yourself up, so maybe that was mine.
Now I'm all scarily calm. Vaguely and creepily reminiscent of someone soon to get homicidal or suicidal or regicidal or genocidal.
Deadly seriousness as I think, this has to end. I will not do this to myself anymore. It is counterproductive. It is immature.
I will not look at my reflection and say that she is not enough.
I will not look at my life and take only pain from it and tell myself that I deserve no more.
No more.
I will try to revolutionise my head, spin it 180 degrees and tell it to start again.
Something has to change in me right now, because I can't live with it otherwise, I absolutely point blank refuse to.
You know that expression? Inside every fat girl is a skinny girl waiting to get out? I think inside me is something I spend far too much of my time pushing down, and her time needs to come now if the unit wants to survive.
Whether this will translate into something good, or into anything at all when tomorrow arrives, is anybody's guess.
