Thursday, February 26, 2009

I could stare in the mirror for hours and find no connection between my thoughts and the face staring back at me. He seems more like a poorly casted actor whose eyes show his disdain for his role. And yet he smiles. He leads an exceptional life with above average grades and social skills. I just wish my real life were more like the person radiating from his smile. Other people seem like actors and actresses in the same sick drama, almost unreal to me. I have to remind myself when I speak to them that it is the actor they see and mot an image more fairly representative of my thoughts. I feel like a renegade separating myself from my intended role, and yet my misery seeks no company. I consider myself too humane to invite stable minds into my thought, like enticing the healthy into a leper colony. I therefore suffer in silence, longing to be understood but refusing to share such a nightmare with the unknowing. It is a lonely place in the mind of an unwilling actor.

-Hurt (emphasis mine)

I don't know how to put into words the way that I feel. There is a definite underlying anxiety, almost terror. That's what keeps me paralyzed. As I cycle back and forth between consciousness I refuse to entertain thoughts of reality. That's nice, while it lasts.

I guess I am not quite catatonic, I did manage to take my clothes to the laundromat today, but the time it took me to draw myself together doubled the time spent on the chore itself. The usually rage showed up and my only method of consolation was to tell myself that after the laundry was done I could do something.

I don't want to ask for help, because at this point I don't have much faith in those that say they can help. Withdrawing into myself until an end seems tempting, but there is a strong voice of responsibility that won't let me quit. So again, I go back to repeating those words, to myself, to God, to the darkness...

"I don't know what to do."

No comments:

Post a Comment