Only in the dark

I didn’t even bother getting out of bed today. I couldn’t come up with a valid reason to do so. I woke up at almost 9pm, and even then it was only the sweat soaked blankets and the urge for the bathroom that forced me to move. 

The only reasons to rise are always the barest of pleasures and nothing worthwhile, but somehow I’ve made them something. Not something solid or true, but enough. Always, I will have just enough, to never be satisfied, to never be whole. 

I will pine for that which does not desire me back, I will hope for things that are to my detriment. I will not improve because improvement seems so inconsequential in the day to day. I will wither, and it will be easier, somehow, even if it means hating things more over all. 

There will be pain and it will be okay, because it is all that is real anymore. Everything else must be feigned. I must act, sometimes even for myself so that the hopelessness does not catch up to me. I fight in the dark, blind and clawing, and sometimes I crawl, trying to find a wall, a way out, a path to salvation. Then I get struck again by that horrible realization that I am meant for darkness. Horrible things keep in the dark, and they must, for the light hurts their eyes.

Shy away, monster, because those things outside, though not willful, are many, and their numbers will overwhelm you those times you have not prepared yourself. 


Never to sleep

The schedule I’ve been keeping is killing me. I can’t seem to sleep when I need to, so I settle for staying up all night and a good chunk of the day until I reach that crashing point of no return. I keep waking up at 7pm, and though I’ve tried to change my internal clock, it doesn’t seem to be working. If I go to sleep earlier, I just wake up at 5am, can’t sleep, and go until noon, which means back up at 7 again. It wouldn’t be a problem if my living situation was different, but as it is, I am the total opposite of everyone else, and I sleep so lightly that their everyday noises constantly wake me.

Every couple of days I just drug myself for some reprieve. I’ve been trying to work on my artwork, and have been messing with oil paints. I’m still terrible, but at least it’s something to do besides Skyrim or obsessing over my fish tanks. Besides that, things are relatively normal, although it looks like our house-hunting is going to be put off yet again, as the main car has decided to start acting up. Fortunately, mine is still going strong, but my boyfriend can hardly afford to drive it, as it requires premium fuel. The mileage it gets isn’t bad, but for how far he has to go, it means 65 dollars every 4 days. Not exactly economical.

There’s a good chance we’ll get a new car before the house, just so we can have one vehicle that has a warranty. If the housing market goes up even slightly, our chances of getting a house will more or less be dashed, which is why we have been focusing on getting into one as soon as possible. More setbacks, as always. Every time we get to a point where we can buy, something comes up.

At this point I’ll settle for a shack not by the railroad tracks. I guess we’ll see.

To avoid…

Another day off. Yesterday was…interesting, to say the least. I never went to bed the night previous, and all I had done was get up from my computer chair to go shower and get ready. I did my 8 hours, which was chaotic and horrible, naturally; not a good day whatsoever and all the higher-ups magically appeared to criticize everything while we’re trying to swim instead of sink. And there I am barely conscious, which was my own stupid fault.

 I also found out someone called in and made a claim that the morning workers were standing around doing nothing when the store was supposed to be open, to our boss. So being that she is quite nosey, she checked the footage from that day on that hour.

Sometimes you do get revenge.

Apparently on the tape I’m preparing food ten minutes before opening (which is how it is supposed to be), while my coworker and I are having a conversation as she puts on her headset (which she doesn’t have to put on until six; but we always try to be ready ahead of time…). I haul ass in the morning; I have no alternative. I must have all of the food out to last for the entire morning and have it cooked by six. I also have to turn on all the equipment, plug in the freezers, prep all the trays, and get all my supplies. One half hour is all I get to do this in, and I am completely on my own. But I get it done. And then I assemble and cook the food until at least 7-8 in the morning, if not later, until someone comes in to help.

For anyone to even suggest that I would be fucking around, infuriates me. Why don’t you get back there and try to do it, then? Why don’t you run the entire back of a store by yourself for a good portion of the morning and see how you fair? They’ve left me alone until 10 before. You want to talk about having a bad motherfucking day?

Anyway, once that was over I went home for about an hour, waiting for them to get the checks at work. Then I went back, stood around for awhile and got to see one of my coworkers, who was just about to go off to a party and get as drunk as humanly possible. She smoked and I giggled, out in the cold, watching all the people walk in and out of the restaurant. I ran off as soon as I got paid, then went to town, which was another experience in and of itself.

I was standing at the counter of another fast food restaurant around 4, trying to order food. For some reason I couldn’t seem to speak properly. The guy at the register kept getting confused, and I was feeling too anxious to talk at all, but somehow I blurted out something and did get food. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I didn’t have much of a choice; it was either get food or don’t eat at all.  I don’t know why I get so anxious out of the blue like that sometimes.  I can be okay with it one day, then terrible the next.

The same thing happened in Walmart, and then again at another store. I froze when they would ask me a question or try to make typical conversation. I’d mumble something and look at the floor until they were done ringing everything up, then I’d snatch up my things and leave as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t have to say anything else. It got worse when I went to look at some Christmas things. This guy says something about what I’m wearing, which isn’t anything to worry about. I walk away, forget about it. Then there he is again, five minutes later when I’m carrying a few things around. He can’t seem to restrain himself from making a comment about the items, so I say something a little snide, and move to another aisle. But I can see him hovering in the corner of my vision. My lack of sleep has caught up with me by then and I am on the verge of verbally attacking him because I simply don’t want to be bothered. For any reason. Instead, however, avoidance kicks in and I end up on the opposite side of the store.   

Sometimes I feel like this wolf with snapping jaws, then other times I feel like the timid little rabbit that would prefer to run than face something. Sometimes I think suicide would be a rabbit moment, and maybe that is one of the reasons I haven’t gone as far with it as I would like at heart. I am a true avoider; the confrontational person that comes out at times is a temporary side-effect of annoyance and anger. I get fed up and I act. The rest of the time I’d like nothing more than to fade into the background and be unseen because I am too weak to try and the desire to do anything doesn’t really exist.

Finally, for the last round of stores I put on my headphones and blatantly refused to acknowledge anyone, even if they were speaking to me. No, I can’t hear you, sorry.

I’m not sure if I should be angry at myself for that or not. I didn’t want to be out in the first place, and only endured it because there were things I needed to get. I had even weighed myself before I left and nearly not gone because of it. I should have been home sleeping, truthfully. I guess none of it is really an excuse though. What’s funny to me is the more time I have been spending out in the world, the less I wish to see of it, when the words of anyone else are to integrate and try more in order to get better. Why then do I feel like there are even fewer reasons to venture out?

If it was up to me, I don’t think I would leave the house anymore. Regardless of how much I have been panicking in my time off, I would prefer to deal with myself, the real problem, instead of trying to be something I’m not. I feel wrong in the presence of others, more so than when I am by myself. I’m always lying and playing a game that I don’t really want to play. Why play when you care not about the pieces and their outcome, I wonder? The crux of this is that I can’t feel and I have trouble conjuring up any kind of feelings for those around me. And maybe I can’t feel for them because I can’t feel for myself. I can’t even care about my life, so how can I concern myself with theirs?

I’ll go on avoiding. Nothing else but that seems to make me last.

No rest.

I was woken up at 7 this morning and told by my mother that work had called and I’d been asked to come in on my day off.

I went. I work again tomorrow and then have the next day off, finally. It was awful to wake up from 12 hours of dead sleep and have to get up and go back after imagining how nice it was going to be to lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing. I didn’t even get up last night like I usually do; I was too listless to even bother.

My godparents were over again yesterday, and naturally all they seemed to be interested in is what I eat, especially at work. My godfather even named what I’d eaten,when he was asking me if I was going to have some of dinner. Why do people insist on doing that to me, honestly?

No one can tell I’ve gained weight. Even my mother didn’t notice. It makes me feel slightly better, I guess, even if I can see and feel the difference like night and day. I’ve done alright the last few days, and I work so much that my pants are loosening up ever so slightly even though I’m certainly not in diet mode.

I’m tired in the mental sense. I’m angry that I have to go back again tomorrow, but there’s not much that can be done. Besides, now I have an extra day added onto my check. I’ve been thinking as a gift to myself I may just by the 300 dollar boots from Spain that I’ve wanted forever. Why not? It’s my money; I’ll waste it on what I want.


It was only as I was driving down this narrow road that my dream from last night reemerged for me to remember. I swerved to avoid hitting something in the road, and it’s when I saw what it was that it all came unburied. There was a head in the road, a buck’s head, missing the chunk of its skull cap where it antlers should have been. It still had the fur on it, fully recognizable as what it was except for that the body was scattered all around, and its eyes were missing.

Bloated, dead horses, that’s what came back to me. There was this muddy slope covered in a myriad of them, many of them still living. They came in an assortment of colors, but the filth had marred the shine from them so they all appeared dull and monotonous. Except for the white horse. I’m walking along the hillside, calf deep in sludge that was a combination of manure and old, rotting hay. They are shying from me, their manes matted, dreadlocked from years of neglect. The white horse is standing at the base of an oak, appearing untouched by the famine and dirtiness. He’s thick through his neck and limbs, like he’s been eating very well. I’m heading toward the leaning oak.

The horse is eyeing the small animal in front of it, snorting and acting generally displeased. The creature is tiny and white, too-long legs  folded under it awkwardly. Just as I approach, the stallion begins to trample it. The little splotch of white rolls over and cries out, as the horse repeatedly knocks it around. I start to shout, and I see the white horse’s ears prick in my direction, and he even ceases his bullying to glance at me. But then, as though he never saw me, he paws at the ground again, pushing the small animal with his hard hooves. I’m waving my arms now, hollering ‘hey!’, and going as fast as I can to them.

I continue to make a lot of noise even as I get feet from them. The white horse doesn’t seem to know what to think of me and seems to have abandoned his little game in order to better stare. He’s moving from foot to foot nervously, but I keep thinking he’s going to charge at me anyway, as I reach down and grab the mangled little creature. As soon as I have it in my arms I start backing away, and much to my luck, one of the other horses starts something with the stallion, biting at the graceful white neck with yellowed teeth. I take the opportunity to turn away from them and hurry back up to the top of the hill.

I realize that the animal is not what I thought. I mistook it for a lamb. It’s a newborn goat, blue-eyed with fur whiter than snow beneath the grime.

The longest day.

I confess: today I feel like death warmed over. I got up this morning and actually had breakfast because I wasn’t sure if I’d be alright without it. I had no appetite yesterday, and didn’t eat all day while doing an 11 hour shift. I got home and more or less force-fed myself because I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning. Apparently I wasn’t the only one feeling like shit. There seemed to be a group consensus that we should all pack up and leave, and even one of my favorite shift managers was joking around with me that she was going to lock all the doors and let us go. We all were more sluggish than usual and constantly asking the time.

I was ready to just stop. I was so groggy and out of  it, that it was like operating half asleep. By the time I was four hours in, I knew I had to eat something or go home, so I went next door to the gas station and bought a bunch of sugary junk to try to revive myself rather than stand around the rest of my shift being entirely useless. I need not have worried, really, because we were all fucking up, dropping things and taking longer than usual. Thankfully our forgiving shift manager was just as exhausted (I worked with her at the other restaurant, so we were already acquainted).

I have the day off tomorrow, and I know all I am going to do is sleep. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m so numb nothing makes sense anyway. I’m sure it will all get as blurred as this day already has, as all meaning already has. Nothing at all seemed to matter today. All I could think of was sleep and getting away, far, far away. And death. But when don’t I think of that?

Damn this apathy. Damn it to hell. I’ll sleep it off.

I truly wish I would just die. I am weak and want the world to do it for me, because most days I don’t have enough left in me to follow through like I need to so badly.

The Living Death

I’m numb. So incredibly numb I didn’t get out of bed until night had fallen, and only then because everyone was going out to dinner and I was expected to attend. I feel as though my body and my mind are not attached. We are two very separate things, and neither has any control over the other. Overly drugged. That is what it feels like. I know it must be the pills. This is such an awful feeling, like being in a prison. I know I wouldn’t have left my bed had I not been coaxed. I didn’t eat or go to the bathroom or even get a drink of water, I just laid there waiting for the hours to pass.

I’ve been awake for hours now and this has yet to subside. Even my mom made a comment that I was more quiet than usual, along with another statement from my dad that I looked ‘doe-eyed’. Tomorrow I have to go to work, and I can only hope that this will lessen by then. This is not living, not at all. What is wrong? Why is this happening? I can only think that it is my body adjusting. Hopefully it is only temporary, because even a week of this would be more than I could bear.

I’ll wake up from my nightmare soon. Nothing lasts forever.