despite all my rage I am still just a frog in a ball
ocd goes crazy 🤪 nothing happened. my dad asked me for help and i didnt want to do it and my body is stiff with guilt and i want to cry lol
i feel like im constantly being punished for existing. every moment, every interaction, every feeling, every emotion, every part of me as i am is weighed against me by my thoughts and it is so extremely exhausting.
i am always so tired. i feel in extremes. i am so independent and so very needy. i check for so much. i am so afraid to fuck up. every mistake feels inevitable. i feel ungrateful, but i am so thankful. i feel so hollow but am so full of things i cannot hold, as if the space was carved out in anticipation. such heavy grief, and resounding sadness and drowning loneliness. or the hugenesss of simple joys and the light of light and the unadulterated love that i feel for my loves and the trueness of life. the echoless empty of feeling nothing at all. too full. disastrously empty. robotic neutrality. catatonic indifference.
the feeling of sundays: too late to start, too early to stop. potential. queue. stalled. stalling in present. no forward or backward. an empty room so bright and dead you wonder if youre meant to be there.
i'm drinking in pleasure to feel nothing. drinking in everything that is real to transmute it into less than ash, less than smoke; more null than void.
i think i dance the line between being embarrassed by how i write my thoughts and how earnestly i write them. im so aware of it, of how it sounds and how true it is. afraid it sounds gilded, or pretentious, ridiculous in away i haven't thought of. full of myself instead of raw, like meat, like guts; like pompous surety- not choking
like choking-- on all the wet things in my mouth, throat swollen and narrowed. like everything is coming up like vomit. like evisceration in the basic sense; like an urchin. pushing everything up, and up, and up, and out through my mouth.
sometimes i hold my throat when i feel like this, when i feel the choking, to make sure theres no bleeding, that it hasn't been slit, that the fullness is just a feeling. sometimes i feel a ripping, a tearing, a clawing in my chest like fingers into soft clay, like talons into unprotected soft spots.
i know my pathology, i know the diagnoses. i know why i feel the way i feel. but i dont know
WHY i feel this way.