(no subject)
I'm out of the war zone now. Why do I keep forgetting to breathe?
I'm holding my breath for the sound of the incoming explosions, and my trained response.
I forgot what it feels like to walk with your head held high and a clear mind. Did I ever know?
You never realise how clouded and dead your mind becomes when you're caught in the day time, the war time, until you can retire into the night with a few shots thrown back, and numbing powder to keep the rest at bay. It becomes over grown and lethal. Such distorted figures grow and patrol the boundaries, so that every time you approach the brink of consciousness, you throw it down again with a shot of whatever who ever has got. You've become my saviour, my back bone, my emotions, the protector of my heart, my fragile emotions, and sedative against my mind. How profound are the one in one hundered things Brett says? Not very. And by not very I mean not at all. And yet he says them, and continues to drink. Has he really given up all self esteem, worth and drive? I thought it was all a joke.. a silly joke between friends. Who would ever truly give up themselves for this? The party will end in a little while I'm sure. Then I'll go back home. But at home there is nothing. There is emptiness and a deep cold that never leaves. So the party becomes your refuge from home. breathe.. i have to remember to breathe. . .
it's not all so bad. being awake is not a frightening thing. I do not want to retire into the night for ever. So why do I continue killing myself in spirit, whittling away at my body, as if it were something to destroy. Is it? Is this the meaning to life? Pick your poison. We're all going to die, right? No, no that can not be right. I refuse to belive it gets no better than this. The people I trusted and thought were friend were not. They were not, even the ones that I lived with. They were not friend. They were aquaintance. Only in two there was family. And only in one is there unbiased true friendship, and trust. I'm locked inside my head and I can't get out. And the others inside are getting too loud, and they're becoming more insistant. And they're becoming more real to me. Is it possible to have us and not realise it? Is it possible to have cancer and not realise it? Pretty much I'd say yes, but it's generally easy to ignore. Until I've been pushed beyond my limit, and ten hours of sleep is still not enough, and my faith and will to survive and love have been beaten back beyond a shadow of a doubt. then it's pretty much impossible not to notice. Does this make me weak? My drift into myself? The confusion of the mixed emotions that have given themselves bodies? Is that what it means? Breaking into fragments to protect the whole. How much sense does that make?! This just goes on to psych me out that all of this, all of me, and the others, and my psyche, anything spiritual or subjective and emotional, breaks down to electricity, and parts communicating. Like a maschine, but so very not. Like a spirit, but so very not. The finest mesh Maschinery and spiritual realm? Perhaps. My maschine is defective. It broke my spirituality. I need a new one. ._. But you don't get a new one and you aren't permanently broken. But it doesn't help that people you trust keep wrenching on you trying to fix what they are not fluent in and scrambling the code even more. You've become binary to me. Flat and two dimentional. You're unreal and I'm floating somewhere that I forgot how to find. But I'm there.. I'll just have another drink and work on pretending that the pink elephant is not staring into my eyes from the middle of the room, and clouding my visions of you. It's only slightly distracting. Is it like a ghost? If you don't look they fade, if you do they gain power? No unfortunately they feed on your neglect and become larger, and then they multiply, until you're stifled with them, and there's no more room for anymore. And no matter how drunk you are, you can still see them. And no one else.
How depressing.
to think, ten minutes ago I was daydreaming about a boy....
lovelove,
*Liquor Bunny Spike
I'm holding my breath for the sound of the incoming explosions, and my trained response.
I forgot what it feels like to walk with your head held high and a clear mind. Did I ever know?
You never realise how clouded and dead your mind becomes when you're caught in the day time, the war time, until you can retire into the night with a few shots thrown back, and numbing powder to keep the rest at bay. It becomes over grown and lethal. Such distorted figures grow and patrol the boundaries, so that every time you approach the brink of consciousness, you throw it down again with a shot of whatever who ever has got. You've become my saviour, my back bone, my emotions, the protector of my heart, my fragile emotions, and sedative against my mind. How profound are the one in one hundered things Brett says? Not very. And by not very I mean not at all. And yet he says them, and continues to drink. Has he really given up all self esteem, worth and drive? I thought it was all a joke.. a silly joke between friends. Who would ever truly give up themselves for this? The party will end in a little while I'm sure. Then I'll go back home. But at home there is nothing. There is emptiness and a deep cold that never leaves. So the party becomes your refuge from home. breathe.. i have to remember to breathe. . .
it's not all so bad. being awake is not a frightening thing. I do not want to retire into the night for ever. So why do I continue killing myself in spirit, whittling away at my body, as if it were something to destroy. Is it? Is this the meaning to life? Pick your poison. We're all going to die, right? No, no that can not be right. I refuse to belive it gets no better than this. The people I trusted and thought were friend were not. They were not, even the ones that I lived with. They were not friend. They were aquaintance. Only in two there was family. And only in one is there unbiased true friendship, and trust. I'm locked inside my head and I can't get out. And the others inside are getting too loud, and they're becoming more insistant. And they're becoming more real to me. Is it possible to have us and not realise it? Is it possible to have cancer and not realise it? Pretty much I'd say yes, but it's generally easy to ignore. Until I've been pushed beyond my limit, and ten hours of sleep is still not enough, and my faith and will to survive and love have been beaten back beyond a shadow of a doubt. then it's pretty much impossible not to notice. Does this make me weak? My drift into myself? The confusion of the mixed emotions that have given themselves bodies? Is that what it means? Breaking into fragments to protect the whole. How much sense does that make?! This just goes on to psych me out that all of this, all of me, and the others, and my psyche, anything spiritual or subjective and emotional, breaks down to electricity, and parts communicating. Like a maschine, but so very not. Like a spirit, but so very not. The finest mesh Maschinery and spiritual realm? Perhaps. My maschine is defective. It broke my spirituality. I need a new one. ._. But you don't get a new one and you aren't permanently broken. But it doesn't help that people you trust keep wrenching on you trying to fix what they are not fluent in and scrambling the code even more. You've become binary to me. Flat and two dimentional. You're unreal and I'm floating somewhere that I forgot how to find. But I'm there.. I'll just have another drink and work on pretending that the pink elephant is not staring into my eyes from the middle of the room, and clouding my visions of you. It's only slightly distracting. Is it like a ghost? If you don't look they fade, if you do they gain power? No unfortunately they feed on your neglect and become larger, and then they multiply, until you're stifled with them, and there's no more room for anymore. And no matter how drunk you are, you can still see them. And no one else.
How depressing.
to think, ten minutes ago I was daydreaming about a boy....
lovelove,
*Liquor Bunny Spike