TIMES LIKE THESE: WHEN INTELLIGENCE SPILLS FROM YOUR NOSE LIKE FILTH. WELL, CARRY ME.
I am up to my neck in filth inside this poorly lit bedroom. I won't lie about it. It's all of the piles that distract me from working much on anything. I'd clean, but feel it would take so much more out of me than I am willing to expend on anything this Tuesday night.
I've spent the last three days trying to get these questions for the Scarlet Letter out of my hair and to no avail. Forget about the Spanish project, I can hardly care. I don't know where all of that is coming from. I am never this disconnected. This is an all-time record low. If it were a grade, I'd have an "A" in Lassitude. (.. and I'm failing Algebra.)
"When was the last time you participated in one of these self-inflicted tendencies?"
Awkward. But I can't explain what its like to hate the prospect of help. I won't take your drugs if they won't let me feel. I won't be your guinea pig and let you decipher my dreams. Well, aren't they mine to believe? God, someone believe me. It's all about stress and how this is one big test. Oh God. Get better.
I'm not really breathing in anything anymore. It's the only reason I'm aware. This double-over sense of incomplete, all becuase I can't breathe. Oxygen. I need something or anyhting. Let this summer be about me. And for a change, I'll start changing. I am all about not letting this happen again. But none of anyone knows where everyone goes in my head when I get like this. I'd let you in. But no one likes talking when no one understand different rhythyms. I've been diagnosed since the age of eight. But I've lived just the same. I like my highs. I like my highs.
I've got the taste of licorice in my mouth. I can't really explain that.
I've spent the last three days trying to get these questions for the Scarlet Letter out of my hair and to no avail. Forget about the Spanish project, I can hardly care. I don't know where all of that is coming from. I am never this disconnected. This is an all-time record low. If it were a grade, I'd have an "A" in Lassitude. (.. and I'm failing Algebra.)
"When was the last time you participated in one of these self-inflicted tendencies?"
Awkward. But I can't explain what its like to hate the prospect of help. I won't take your drugs if they won't let me feel. I won't be your guinea pig and let you decipher my dreams. Well, aren't they mine to believe? God, someone believe me. It's all about stress and how this is one big test. Oh God. Get better.
I'm not really breathing in anything anymore. It's the only reason I'm aware. This double-over sense of incomplete, all becuase I can't breathe. Oxygen. I need something or anyhting. Let this summer be about me. And for a change, I'll start changing. I am all about not letting this happen again. But none of anyone knows where everyone goes in my head when I get like this. I'd let you in. But no one likes talking when no one understand different rhythyms. I've been diagnosed since the age of eight. But I've lived just the same. I like my highs. I like my highs.
I've got the taste of licorice in my mouth. I can't really explain that.