Sunday, September 11, 2005

The Stars Are Never that Pretty

I'm watching a Beautiful Mind. You know, Schizophrenia, genius. I couldn't help myself. There's this bit where Russell Crowe is seducing with his "inzane" math skills and he draws an umbrella in the stars. But the stars he had at his disposal were from 300 years ago. Stars of a bygone era...

When I'm looking into the sky and at the dust, sometimes I'm looking into way back. Into crinolines and Suffragettes and jousting and old, old blood. Most of the time they're just the pretty bright squares of light they've always been, and sometimes I think I've been too naive and they're in fact atoms that are coming to take me away. I feel so many tingles on my body - on my arms, mainly, like I've just drunk a really beautiful glass of wine. I wish they would just go away! I end up scratching all over myself like a nutter, but maybe its just because I'm a cutter. I have been drinking a little, and I can't write fiction stuff well when I'm inebriated. The tingling won't stop. I think I want to cut tonight. It's only been two weeks, less probably but it feels like forever is laughing at me. I'll probably never get better, there's no point fighting the cutting anymore. And since my eating problems pretty much intwined with the cutting, there's no point attacking that either. But I've got lots of other stuff to do. No time for a gap year - yet. No time to really help myself - yet. To teel you the truth, that reality I've lost my grip on. If I do have schizophrenia (and even if I don't have schizophrenia, I know I'm some kind of crazy.) then its not this archetypal strange beings I can see. I hear everything. I see wisps of things. Black shapes, I mean. Falling things. Once, I almost got sucked into a hole in the sky. This can run and run, what's my point?

I guess, I'm saying I'm not normal even in the most un-normal of things, and therefore nothing in inexplicable to me. I guess this can make me kinda gullible. It makes me sound philosophical too. All there is left now is to get a little more drunk.

4 comments:

Ria Q. Undead said...

Dude.
He broke up with me.
I...don't know what to do. I would email you but the bastards won't let me onto my account.
I'm all over the place.
Sorry haven't spoken for a few days. I have been kind of a mess, not wanting to speak to anyone unless it's him etc.
Sorry.
I do love you.
The Goddess of Gloom
XxX

CarpeDM said...

Hey. I've been thinking of you. Hope everything is okay. Please, for the love of God, talk to someone? Cutting is not going to help you.

Serialangel said...

I simply have no one to talk to.

Udge said...

You are too well-read not to have encountered the word "therapy" before. Start with your (medical) doctor, as his/her advice.

The great advantage of a therapist over a friend, is exactly that they are not a friend. You will never meet them in the pub, or see them talking to your other friends in Safeway. Take it from me, from experience: it is much easier to talk to an absolute stranger.