2003-05-06 - 11:42 p.m.
It's 11:42 and I'm going out of my head but that's nothing new to you.
Nothing new has gone wrong and nothing old has gotten better, but it's this empty space that I can't stomach.
As I type the stomach gives out and the brain gives up but the blood still pumps, theoretically.
It's storming and I'm looking for a port to hide in for a while. Any port. Even though that doesn't work out ever because I don't like hiding, I could use the down time.
Is this how it's going to be? Because I'd rather it wasn't.
I keep thinking that if I can just make it through this year, make it through this year... even though deep down I know if I did it would still be like "Now what?"
But in ten minutes there will be another day, another day to drag me through it. I'll get up and get dressed and go to the places I'm expected to be at. But still putting minimal effort at going through the motions.
Never getting any further from this place because I'm too tired to try. Learned helplessness not just a psych term but a chosen lifestyle.
I'm still so tired, tired all the time, because sleeping only happens when my body entirely gives out, but waking happens according to my schedule and not how much rest I want or need.
Although if I took all the rest I wanted by the time I woke up my life would probably be over...
Anyway the consequence of this is that I rock up to uni, wild-haired with the permanent bags under my eyes and a face contaminated by paleness. The girls I sit next to, acquaintances who barely know me ask if I'm okay. Because I look ill. I answer truthfully but with no relevant details.
"It's been a long ... year ... I think I'm coming down with something."
And the year goes on, stretching longer and longer and I wonder where my breaking point is located, wonder when we're going to find out.
It's technically a new day already. And I sit around wondering how and if I'm even going to make it through the next 24 hours.
I should get to bed, because sleep and the other things I'm chasing will elude me for a long while yet.
Nothing new has gone wrong and nothing old has gotten better, but it's this empty space that I can't stomach.
As I type the stomach gives out and the brain gives up but the blood still pumps, theoretically.
It's storming and I'm looking for a port to hide in for a while. Any port. Even though that doesn't work out ever because I don't like hiding, I could use the down time.
Is this how it's going to be? Because I'd rather it wasn't.
I keep thinking that if I can just make it through this year, make it through this year... even though deep down I know if I did it would still be like "Now what?"
But in ten minutes there will be another day, another day to drag me through it. I'll get up and get dressed and go to the places I'm expected to be at. But still putting minimal effort at going through the motions.
Never getting any further from this place because I'm too tired to try. Learned helplessness not just a psych term but a chosen lifestyle.
I'm still so tired, tired all the time, because sleeping only happens when my body entirely gives out, but waking happens according to my schedule and not how much rest I want or need.
Although if I took all the rest I wanted by the time I woke up my life would probably be over...
Anyway the consequence of this is that I rock up to uni, wild-haired with the permanent bags under my eyes and a face contaminated by paleness. The girls I sit next to, acquaintances who barely know me ask if I'm okay. Because I look ill. I answer truthfully but with no relevant details.
"It's been a long ... year ... I think I'm coming down with something."
And the year goes on, stretching longer and longer and I wonder where my breaking point is located, wonder when we're going to find out.
It's technically a new day already. And I sit around wondering how and if I'm even going to make it through the next 24 hours.
I should get to bed, because sleep and the other things I'm chasing will elude me for a long while yet.
