(no subject)
I can't help but feel terrified now. After my sickness I lay down and slept a good five hours. I dreamt of terrors again, at first being raped. Then being placed in my old house's garage. My mother was sick, mad with fever, being vulgar and staring at me the way she did when she was manic: unblinking, terrified, demonic. I lit the garage on fire and left her in there. I hurried to set my dogs free before I ran out with them. I thought about how much better it would have been had I lit the attic on fire instead, so that it would all come on top of her- for some reason that was important to me.
life is almost unbearable right now. It is horrifying. I am sick with horror, actually, i am physically sick with disgust and it comes out in my muscles being strained and my head foggy and my skin prickly with nerves.
I'm coming back to myself is all, at least that is what I am hoping for, that I'm coming back to myself only a little more mature. I was very mature at one point, but not at all myself. It all started with my obsession with floral patterns. It is disguting to think of now. All that is terrible in my world is not dark and black and gloomy, those are beautiful in their mystery, even wonderful, even perfect.... but bright, floral, patterns... Sunshine with no shadows, the thought pains me, and that is how I knew I was becoming ill, my obsession with these things, so unconnected with the world, Trying to drape everything I know in some unconvincing, flowery veil. I mean this on a superficial level in my choice of sheets, of draperies, of clothes, but I tried to cover my whole insides as well, I suffered daily for not meeting my desired quotient of flowery goodness, My room was perfect, my days were scheduled, there was no darkness left, nothing left unthought, the sun shined violently on the inner parts of my soul and I went to bed every night desperate and feverish....... I was afraid of the things that made up the most of me, ashamed of them, I tried so hard to plant delicate flowers to shade the moist shit of my innards.... but its failed! And now I am practically puking them all up! Daisys, peonies, and orchids, especially orchids! I am gagging on the growth of orchids that are rising from my rib cage, I cough them up every night, crisp underneath all the phlegm, sticky and acidic, terrible things! But it is alright, this illness. It is well. It will be done with soon and then I can rest for once in the comfort of velveteen darkness, actual depth! There is comfort in that, more than in anything there is comfort in that, in depth, true faith, unwavering ignorance .
life is almost unbearable right now. It is horrifying. I am sick with horror, actually, i am physically sick with disgust and it comes out in my muscles being strained and my head foggy and my skin prickly with nerves.
I'm coming back to myself is all, at least that is what I am hoping for, that I'm coming back to myself only a little more mature. I was very mature at one point, but not at all myself. It all started with my obsession with floral patterns. It is disguting to think of now. All that is terrible in my world is not dark and black and gloomy, those are beautiful in their mystery, even wonderful, even perfect.... but bright, floral, patterns... Sunshine with no shadows, the thought pains me, and that is how I knew I was becoming ill, my obsession with these things, so unconnected with the world, Trying to drape everything I know in some unconvincing, flowery veil. I mean this on a superficial level in my choice of sheets, of draperies, of clothes, but I tried to cover my whole insides as well, I suffered daily for not meeting my desired quotient of flowery goodness, My room was perfect, my days were scheduled, there was no darkness left, nothing left unthought, the sun shined violently on the inner parts of my soul and I went to bed every night desperate and feverish....... I was afraid of the things that made up the most of me, ashamed of them, I tried so hard to plant delicate flowers to shade the moist shit of my innards.... but its failed! And now I am practically puking them all up! Daisys, peonies, and orchids, especially orchids! I am gagging on the growth of orchids that are rising from my rib cage, I cough them up every night, crisp underneath all the phlegm, sticky and acidic, terrible things! But it is alright, this illness. It is well. It will be done with soon and then I can rest for once in the comfort of velveteen darkness, actual depth! There is comfort in that, more than in anything there is comfort in that, in depth, true faith, unwavering ignorance .