Line my eyes and call me pretty… please? (Or, “Maybe More Merry?”)

I got thinking about how surprising it was that several hours have gone by already since I posted before, and how all the crazy-making things about this place really wear me down. But then, I realized — and in fact, nearly commanded myself — I should get myself together, that sitting in wonder shouldn’t last forever.

In other words:

It’s astounding; time is fleeting.
Madness takes its toll.
But, listen closely:
Not for very much longer!
I’ve got to keep control!

Huh. Now for some reason I feel like drinking for a moment. Odd..

At any rate, it really is astounding, just how little it takes of having some time to myself in order to feel a fuckton better. Once she’s gone away, all it takes is a little light reading from an old favorite, an orgasm before that, and a little bit of happy music (or maybe the happy music happened because I was already feeling good? I mean, the suggestive dance performance I was putting on for an imagined partner or several while listening might be an indicator that things were going all right…) Took a bath, found a lovely, large bruise on my leg that I’ve apparently had for a couple of days (I can read the color/age of bruises pretty well, but I’m honestly much more out of practice than I’d like) but that I don’t remember getting. It’s got a nice big bump to it as well, the kind of lump I would expect to remember! Oh well.

I’m hungry. I ate a little bit of food yesterday evening, but that was all I had yesterday. I’m debating whether to try and put something together now, whether to just try and sleep a little bit (it’s less than 4 hours until Again is supposed to get here to pick me up and whisk me away from this misery to a much more delightful locale) or whether to caffeinate myself instead. Shit! As I type that, I realize that I filled up the drink cup at Jack In The Box last night with a couple different highly-caffeinated soda flavors. No fucking wonder I’m still wide awake.

Well! No more caffeine for now, then. Perhaps a mild sedative, then, and see if I can catch a bit of a nap.


Ferry Chrucking Mistmas.

Just a few more minutes until xmas starts here, and nothing is all that different from usual. The Rabbit is in the next room coughing, clearing her throat, hacking up snot from her throat, blowing her nose loudly and frequently. Likely at least another half-hour, maybe longer, before she’ll even begin trying to shut down her computer and start getting herself to bed, which takes another half an hour usually. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to keep myself distracted from how horny I am, because there’s nothing I can do about it until she’s at the other end of the house; the lack of privacy here is incredibly frustrating on a nonstop basis.

I’m supposed to be ready tomorrow morning by about 10am — last-minute plans to spend the day with Again, whose holiday plans fell through. Hoping to fuck that I can get some rest before then, and hoping I can take care of a few things I’d really really like to accomplish before I get some sleep. So fucking sick of being stuck here. Sick of The Rabbit‘s complete obliviousness to all the shit surrounding her, all the shit she causes, everything. it’s so horrible here. And she’s said to me, explicitly, “I never wanted you here.” Well, fuck you too, since I never wanted to be here, but hey, you’re the one who made the goddamned offer in the first place, so…

Miserable. I’ve said it plenty before, but this place is killing me. It’s a slow death, but it’s death nonetheless. I mean, within the last couple of weeks, I had a night where, for the first time in easily 20 years… I could see swallowing an entire bottle of sleeping pills as a choice that I could make. I chose not to, that night. But it was a choice I could have made, and I recognized it as such. That ought to scare me; instead it was more of a “huh. Guess I’m not in great shape. ~shrug~

I don’t know how I’m going to possibly find a home. Ever. Things have only gotten worse since I last ranted about how shitty housing options are around here, and they’re continuing to fall apart spectacularly for anyone who isn’t wealthy. It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

Past 5 in the morning; feeling worse for the weather, it seems.

“And I was gonna write a poem about how fire is the only thing that can make a person jump out of a window, […] but depression, too, is a kind of fire… and I know nothing of either.” –Taylor Mali, “Depression Too Is a Type of Fire”

Yesterday I wanted to be dead. Not to kill myself, not to die, just… to cease existing. And yes, I could recognize that having been awake for over 24 hours straight — having lost count of exactly how many — likely helped color my view of the world, but I could also recognize that it only added intensity to what is generally sitting just under everything else, just like alcohol lowers my inhibitions but doesn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t have done while sober. A few drinks might make me do whatever it is more easily, more quickly, with less hesitation; being sleep-deprived and hungry makes me hit those lows more profoundly, more easily too.

Before falling asleep yesterday evening, I posted some depressed and depressing rant like I frequently do, I sent my therapist a text message letting her know I was “wishing hard I wasn’t alive” and that I was about to sleep, and then I got a message on Facebook from Escrow. The first message just said “hey!” And shit, I was overwhelmed, barely able to cope, and I was starting to tell her thanks for checking in but that I couldn’t really process chatting right then… but as I was doing so, she mentioned that she was checking to see that I was safe because she’d heard about a huge fire in my general overall area and she was worried about me.

Oh, right. I’d seen the “safety check” thing from Facebook when I’d picked up my phone, and I had dismissed the notification because it was more shit that I couldn’t deal with when I was already struggling to deal with everything else… but the check-in from a dear friend drove home something that I have known for a long time: an immediate, obvious threat to life gets responses. The slow quotidian slide, the mundane yet no less significant forces that are weighing me down and killing me… those are much, much harder to get help in dealing with. It’s the reason why, in the past, I might have made an obvious post about being ready to kill myself. Or why I might have called a crisis hospital and said that I believed I was a danger to myself or others. Or why I might have chosen any number of, essentially, ruses to make it seem as if there were an immediate, obvious threat to my life. Because that’s what people respond to! But, of course, the responses I’d get in those situations aren’t really all that helpful. And there’s the additional aspect of being “the girl who cried wolf,” because if I ever were at a point where I had specific plans to kill myself and enough motivation to do so, then I’d want to know that I hadn’t left behind me a trail of people too burned by my prior attention-grabbing to intervene when I really needed it.

So I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. Haven’t for years. But when things are caving in under the heaviness of life with depression, and I’m feeling alone and hurting and would love to have someone I know and trust be there for me — not because I’m about to die, but because I’m struggling in other, equally difficult ways… it seems a lot like, well,

“When I expressed my desire to kill myself, I was overwhelmed with offers from people who wanted to spend time with me. Two weeks later, though, I couldn’t get any of them to pick up the phone. It made recovery really difficult because it communicated that people only really cared when I was in crisis.” –Kitty Stryker, “So Someone You Love Is Suicidal”

The title of this post comes from the lyrics of an Erasure song, “Rock Me Gently.” The official music video is a shorter cut than the album version, which basically takes away the otherworldly sadness of synthesizers amid the shrieks of Diamanda Galás which make it such a perfect match to my mood on many occasions. The chorus, however, is simple, direct, and to the point:

“I dream you’re with me
You hold me sweetly
And rock me gently to sleep
In your arms.”

I wish I knew what that felt like again. It’s been a very long time indeed.

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