[ i’m taking the cure so i can be quiet. ]
Am having a ridiculously emo night. This could be due to any one of a number of things; I'm going to blame that tent scene in The Royal Tenenbaums because it's easier than accepting that things just aren't the same, lately. I can't cry anymore, I haven't laughed so hard that it hurt in a long time; everything is muted, dimmed. Two panic attacks tonight, the first in months. It's like being on Prozac again, only there's no easy way off. Or at least, none I'm willing to try tonight; I'm not so far gone yet as to disregard consequences. But I worry that I'll wake up tomorrow, too-early, and this melancholy won't have lifted yet. Another day of this, and I'll start to get desperate, I think.
Everyone's gone someplace and I don't want to leave my bed. If I could find my voice in time to ask, maybe I'd wonder where you've gone to; instead, I'll watch the ending credits and convince myself of some cause-effect conspiracy. It all hangs in the balance of this next night, the morning after, but I am even afraid of sleep. Three nights of nightmares, of waking up in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets; during the day, my mind returns to visions of slit throats and cold dead eyes and brutal crimes of passion, these things that keep me up at night when all I ask is for escape. I want to be tucked in; I want to be left alone.
At least it's hard to take myself so seriously when I look like this:
Or when I have really awesome friends:
And still, there's no joy in waking up, these days. A whole long list of things I love, and all of them seem worlds away. Someday soon, I'll have to resurface, right?