depressive rant (sorry)
It's been a long day, and I find myself now trembling in ways I remember from a year ago when I sunk so low. Maybe it's the sexism at work to which I am more sensitive than I realized; the men call me "babe" and "girl" and 40 year old guys hit on me with an ease and forwardness that staggers me. No room to be queer, and no room to accomplish any of the challenging tasks set before me, tasks that intimidate this baby girl.
Or maybe it's being alone in an empty house tonight, when grotesque faces and ghosts cloud my mind and eyes. I almost whimper at the fear my paranoia incites of murderers, rapists, forces of pure evil, gleeful evil to which I am subject. How can my mind play such intensely cruel games, and why can't I remember it's just a trick after all?
I'm drinking coffee, shaking, and hate that I can be so embarrassingly helpless, that some small voice exists inside this body that actually wants to be cradled, but cannot because no one is here, or perhaps would not even if someone were, for closeness scares me too--makes me shake and throw up.
I just want my mind back: intellect over paranoia; tranquility over random numbers and letters that jump over each other in some rigorous, obsessive pattern for hours and hours . . .
thanks for listening. love
Or maybe it's being alone in an empty house tonight, when grotesque faces and ghosts cloud my mind and eyes. I almost whimper at the fear my paranoia incites of murderers, rapists, forces of pure evil, gleeful evil to which I am subject. How can my mind play such intensely cruel games, and why can't I remember it's just a trick after all?
I'm drinking coffee, shaking, and hate that I can be so embarrassingly helpless, that some small voice exists inside this body that actually wants to be cradled, but cannot because no one is here, or perhaps would not even if someone were, for closeness scares me too--makes me shake and throw up.
I just want my mind back: intellect over paranoia; tranquility over random numbers and letters that jump over each other in some rigorous, obsessive pattern for hours and hours . . .
thanks for listening. love