I have to write this now
Before it is too late, again.
I HATE the Adam who has been living here for the past three years.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I (the real Adam) get to fight my way to the fore again, through the haze of needless and baseless anxiety and self-doubt. I'm the one who did all of his work on time throughout my first two degrees; HE'S the one who can't fucking put pen to paper without having some sissy panic attack.
I'm the one who finished his first MA with the highest average Windsor had seen in fifteen years. HE came along afterwards and fucked up so badly we never even earned the 2nd one.
When I'm back it is for mere flashes at a time. I don't know what keeps me lost and swallowed--is it the daily medication? Is it simply some form of trauma which manifests itself in the frightened, cowardly Adam who floats through life, letting the calendar melt away before him?
I hate him. I hate him and I want to come back. He remembers me, he feels me whenever he speaks of his past adventures... going overseas, acting in front of large crowds, buggering off for weekends away with beautiful women at a moment's notice... whenever he tells these stories he feels like he's describing a television show he saw, once: he knows the plot but that could never have happened in real life, could it?
It's because he's describing me. I lived those things, not the pathetic, disgusting, sorry excuse for a man who you've all come to accept as Adam in the years since.
I'm going to disappear again. I know I will, because in the brief flashes I've come to consciousness in the past year I have tried everything... notes just like this amongst them, tried everything to leave a trail of breadcrumbs so that I can find my way back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.
It's only a matter of time until I'm buried. BUT I AM NOT DEAD. I've talked to shrinks, I've changed meds, I've changed friends and cities and lovers and jobs and missions and hobbies BUT NOTHING WORKS.
The Adam who has taken my place isn't fighting back; he doesn't want to be there. He hates himself, too.
There has got to be a way to get him to remember me.
I HATE the Adam who has been living here for the past three years.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I (the real Adam) get to fight my way to the fore again, through the haze of needless and baseless anxiety and self-doubt. I'm the one who did all of his work on time throughout my first two degrees; HE'S the one who can't fucking put pen to paper without having some sissy panic attack.
I'm the one who finished his first MA with the highest average Windsor had seen in fifteen years. HE came along afterwards and fucked up so badly we never even earned the 2nd one.
When I'm back it is for mere flashes at a time. I don't know what keeps me lost and swallowed--is it the daily medication? Is it simply some form of trauma which manifests itself in the frightened, cowardly Adam who floats through life, letting the calendar melt away before him?
I hate him. I hate him and I want to come back. He remembers me, he feels me whenever he speaks of his past adventures... going overseas, acting in front of large crowds, buggering off for weekends away with beautiful women at a moment's notice... whenever he tells these stories he feels like he's describing a television show he saw, once: he knows the plot but that could never have happened in real life, could it?
It's because he's describing me. I lived those things, not the pathetic, disgusting, sorry excuse for a man who you've all come to accept as Adam in the years since.
I'm going to disappear again. I know I will, because in the brief flashes I've come to consciousness in the past year I have tried everything... notes just like this amongst them, tried everything to leave a trail of breadcrumbs so that I can find my way back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.
It's only a matter of time until I'm buried. BUT I AM NOT DEAD. I've talked to shrinks, I've changed meds, I've changed friends and cities and lovers and jobs and missions and hobbies BUT NOTHING WORKS.
The Adam who has taken my place isn't fighting back; he doesn't want to be there. He hates himself, too.
There has got to be a way to get him to remember me.