"I have burned my tomorrow and I stand inside today
...At the edge of the future and my dreams all fade away
And burn my shadow away...
And burn my shadow away..."
I went out this eve, happily storming to this song, dressed in biker leathers and tight jeans and (I'm informed) rocking the Blondie goth biker chick look quite nicely thank you.
I had a lovely evening in good company; added to that there was chatting and watching 'Sharpe' and petting a cat and drinking wine and being mildly silly and bitching at the TV for comedic effect. It was shiny.
Then I sat on a bus to go home and my brain fell to pieces.
By this I mean... well... y'know when you're feeling sick and you're willing yourself not to throw up - gritting your teeth and staring the nausea down through pure bloody mindedness? It was like that. Only it wasn't nausea, it was 24Carat Crazy.
I all but bit a chunk out of the back of my hand. I was drumming my fingers. I'd turned my music up as loud as it would go. I was writing on the window with my finger - 'I am in a very bad place oh gods oh gods'. I was fidgeting, muttering, scowling; because at least that wasn't ranting screaming or throwing an utter flid of certifiable proportions. I was also slightly disappointed as well as infinitely grateful I didn't have a blade on me.
The other passengers probably figured I was dosing up on Ketamin or coming off Crack (this is shamblyland after all - most of the borough is). Nope, alas it was just me, my neurons, and my brain chemistry with nothing more interesting in my bloodstream than fluoxetine.
I passed a shattered glass-topped coffee table on my way from bus-stop to flat. I noticed and thought about the splintered glass fragments the way an alcoholic might eye up a chocolate liqueur. I knew if I stopped or picked up one of the shards, that would be it. Good record ruined. I grimaced and hurried on with a pang like one walking past an ex they still fancy even though they shouldn't. (Which weirdly isn't something I've ever done, but I imagine it's the same mixture of want/shouldn't/mustn't/can't/shame/irritation as I felt.)
Ergh. Seriously - BLAAAHH - fekk you brain chemistry.
Yes, I am home without mishap. Yes the mood has faded. Yes I remain sane and well behaved. Just... that wasn't fun. I suppose if I needed evidence as to whether I could drop the meds yet or not that was a very strong vote for 'mmm, how about NO'.
*sigh*
Stupid brain. I don't love you in the least.
"Fate's my destroyer, I was ambushed by the light
And you judged me once for falling - this wounded heart will rise
And burn my shadow away...
And burn my shadow away..."
And burn my shadow away...
And burn my shadow away..."
I went out this eve, happily storming to this song, dressed in biker leathers and tight jeans and (I'm informed) rocking the Blondie goth biker chick look quite nicely thank you.
I had a lovely evening in good company; added to that there was chatting and watching 'Sharpe' and petting a cat and drinking wine and being mildly silly and bitching at the TV for comedic effect. It was shiny.
Then I sat on a bus to go home and my brain fell to pieces.
By this I mean... well... y'know when you're feeling sick and you're willing yourself not to throw up - gritting your teeth and staring the nausea down through pure bloody mindedness? It was like that. Only it wasn't nausea, it was 24Carat Crazy.
I all but bit a chunk out of the back of my hand. I was drumming my fingers. I'd turned my music up as loud as it would go. I was writing on the window with my finger - 'I am in a very bad place oh gods oh gods'. I was fidgeting, muttering, scowling; because at least that wasn't ranting screaming or throwing an utter flid of certifiable proportions. I was also slightly disappointed as well as infinitely grateful I didn't have a blade on me.
The other passengers probably figured I was dosing up on Ketamin or coming off Crack (this is shamblyland after all - most of the borough is). Nope, alas it was just me, my neurons, and my brain chemistry with nothing more interesting in my bloodstream than fluoxetine.
I passed a shattered glass-topped coffee table on my way from bus-stop to flat. I noticed and thought about the splintered glass fragments the way an alcoholic might eye up a chocolate liqueur. I knew if I stopped or picked up one of the shards, that would be it. Good record ruined. I grimaced and hurried on with a pang like one walking past an ex they still fancy even though they shouldn't. (Which weirdly isn't something I've ever done, but I imagine it's the same mixture of want/shouldn't/mustn't/can't/shame/irritation as I felt.)
Ergh. Seriously - BLAAAHH - fekk you brain chemistry.
Yes, I am home without mishap. Yes the mood has faded. Yes I remain sane and well behaved. Just... that wasn't fun. I suppose if I needed evidence as to whether I could drop the meds yet or not that was a very strong vote for 'mmm, how about NO'.
*sigh*
Stupid brain. I don't love you in the least.
"Fate's my destroyer, I was ambushed by the light
And you judged me once for falling - this wounded heart will rise
And burn my shadow away...
And burn my shadow away..."