Friday night flickers
Across the screen
Cancer rain runs in gutters
Flooding cynical city eyes
With the kind of tired resignation
That years spent in rain
Could never wash away.
Here we go, again.
Sleepless and irregular heartbeat rhythm
Pounding down the path of ash
Nights like this
Delicious in their solitary familiarity
In a crowd, but alone
Next to anyone
But long gone
Are why I
Like a dead shell walking
Unburied and breathing
Flawed and beautiful as I am
Alienated, alienating, alien.
Jagged teeth, sneering grin
Sharp fangs, lifelike skin
With a hunger for fresh blood
To fill fathomless flesh.
Typing on my phone and intermittently staring at the gentle glow of a candle on my ceiling.
I haven’t had a single good night of sleep this week. My body hurts and I’m exhausted. I haven’t written in a week. Somehow, I’ve felt too distracted or just too tired. There was a day or two this week where I felt too love struck and electric with sweetness and sentiment to concentrate, so that was pretty cool. I am allowing myself to gently fall in love for the second time ever. Turns out moving not at a frantic-trying-to-fill-the-void-with-whoever-is-around pace is real nice.
I keep telling myself I’m going to do some more work on this book. I’m going to start work on an outline for the film project a friend and I started discussing this week. I’m real excited about that project, and not just because it’s an excuse to travel to Florida to get out of our respective Cascadian and Canadian winter climates.
I sit down and start to write and the exhaustion of the distraction just take me the fuck down. I end up just going to bed. Once I’m in bed, I stare at the ceiling.
I think about lost loves, friends, snd enemies. People I miss.People I don’t miss. I think about the terror loose in the world. I feel a deep and dark sense of dread thinking of a friend who is currently in serious legal trouble. I think about racism, about cops, about war, about this culture devouring itself at a suicide-pace. I think about mommas and poppas trying to raise their babies on a burning hellworld, that could break them.
Nothing ever breaks my heart, but goddamn is it bruised sometimes.
I love my bedroom right now.
It’s warm. I’m safe, though I wish my door locked. I’ve always preferred to have bedroom doors that locked. My sheets are clean. My dog is snoring on my baby blanket next to me. I’m in my underwear I’m splitting my time between working on a poem, and trying to write the most heartfelt apology letter I can write to a person who really deserves it. I periodically stop what I’m doing to do push-ups. Trying to fight through the depression fog and get back into training for real. It’s funny, they always talk about how good exercise is for depression. I feel like everyone neglects how hard it is to want to exercise when you’re depressed.
I feel a little lonely. I feel content. I feel hopeful about the future.
This morning when I woke up, the void felt like it was filling every fiber of my being, just that inescapable and inexorable emptiness that is constantly fighting to fill my body. One of the BPD traits that I struggle the most with is a constant feeling of emptiness. I decided to just name it. “The Void”. Like, if I give that sense of emptiness a name, then it I can identify it as an enemy. After that, I can learn all of it’s weaknesses. Once I have learned the void’s weaknesses, then I can destroy it.
In today’s mission to annihilate the void, I managed to get out of bed and go to work. I managed to do some solidarity work. Then I got to see my sweetie and one of my best friends for a few minutes. After that I spent time with a new friend learning about making music.
In a few minutes, I’ll put on an episode of the twilight zone and fall asleep. Mission accomplished. Another day survived.