Stinging brightness, blinding me Aug 02, 2007

I’ll pry open my eyes, the stickyness, it’s hard to open them, and I don’t want to open them.

To me, I’m opening my eyes to a world I do not want to see, a world I don’t want to live in, and a life I’m growing tired of living.

The damn forsaken light, the damn morning and sun that peers through my blinds, and the damn prickles that sting behind my eyes. It makes me want to cry–sometimes I do–sometimes nothing does it anymore and the morning is just painful to see, another day is painful to see. My head feels like a dishwasher: dirty, un-plated, pieces of metal everywhere, and there is no soap, nothing to clean the nastiness I’ve made. I feel..

lost,

so lost,

so disconnected,

so withdrawn and empty. I want to do something, but I don’t want to do anything, I want to go, but my legs won’t move. I hate anxiety, I hate the morning. All I want to do is sleep, sleep forever, sleep past this time; at this same time I also don’t want to sleep for days. I don’t want to sleep, and I want what keeps me up. This feeling, this pain, is my body saying “something is wrong, your system needs something” and it’s urging me to fix it. To fix this stinging, to fix me– but I’m confused– my body is confused with what is me, and what has become me. What has become me… become me.. becoming.. become..

what I have reluctantly de-evolved into.

I crave a presence, but I don’t want to speak, I don’t want to chit-chat or converse, I just want someone there, to feel a presence. And I’ll leave, I’ll leave my friends, I don’t want to be anywhere. I’ll withdraw into my solitude, eyes blinded, mouth dry, heart racing– head belonging to someone else. I want to be somewhere else. I don’t want to see the morning. I don’t feel normal, but I won’t show it, I’ll withdraw before I show anything.

Damn light, damned morning, damn the rush as it comes.