wednesday night
I need to be at work in less than six hours. I should be asleep. I’ve masturbated twice, but all I can think about is… everything.
I feel like I’m a bundle of multitudes condemned to be tangled up in a 30-something woman’s body, a body that will likely result in little more than a less than full lifespan that reached its peak in one week in 20somethingteen and was left gasping for something to fill the void before that inevitable tumble into celibacy and dog-lady status.
I can see it now – alone, trying to tell myself it’s okay,
still forgetting to take my medication, still struggling to find the slightest
glimmer of creativity to grab hold of so that I can continue to tell myself
that yes, I am a writer, actually but how can you be a writer when you
don’t write anymore?
I’m a twisting tangle of thoughts screaming to be let out
onto a page or into the air or into a hole like the sister in the story of the
seven swan brothers, except I want to be heard, not necessarily for expression’s
sake, but more so that I can find out, how alone am I? Are you feeling this
too? Can we just take a moment to stroke each other’s hair and take comfort in
the notion that we’re both as lost and out of kilter and untethered as each
other, whoever you are?
I want to talk about my vulnerabilities. I want to tear the
flesh away from everything I’m ashamed of and reveal its bones, to say to the
world that I have torn down the curtains, and here! Now I have nothing to be
afraid of, at least not in terms of the things that have been secretly hiding
and festering in me, bubbling with despair and vindictiveness at the idea that
they will never be good enough, brave enough, acceptable enough, everything
enough to be permissible for public viewing.
I have given up on the idea that I will be getting any sleep
tonight, as terrible as that will be for my health, but I am desperately
placing bets on the hope that perhaps a solid word vomit – which maybe I could
post anonymously on the internet? – will be a kind of balm for my soul, even
though I’m sure it won’t be enough.
It’s been a rough few weeks. On top of a hard slog at my
job, it’s been just… bleak. I don’t have the energy to function past the five
working days of the week. I just sleep away my weekends, and just feel empty when
I’m conscious enough to think anything not work related.
The mask is slipping.
Fast.
Five hours. I need to be at work in five hours.
And the dog is awake now, darting around, demanding my full
attention. She might want to go out for a wee. Or just a sniff. Whatever it is,
I’d much rather she was still curled up asleep in the middle of the bed, but
that’s what I get for accidentally kicking her in the head – very gently,
I stress – as I rolled over to reach for my laptop so I could smash out this
missive. (This would happen with far less regularity if she stuck to taking up
half of the bed as opposed to the two-thirds to three-quarter she seems to feel
she is entitled to.)
Don’t worry. I turned the blue light filter on.