A Few Days in My Head as Told from My Journal

Summer 2017 
Days 20 & 21
6/6 - 6/7

I am somewhere in between wanting to stay in this peculiar life and needing to end it. I am sitting at work (which isn’t work at all. I sit behind a front desk for four hours and pick the music. I’ve been going with Bowie and Tame Impala. I try to find something to do). It is currently 2:12 and I get off at 4:00. I don’t even remember yesterday, or Monday. I am trying to convince myself that everything happening around me is part of the world, that this is not some sick game where some giant hand is going to reach down and peel the earth off like a sticker. I think the hand would be a mix of silver and gold, though. This is my skin? My life? What made this all happen? 

It is gloomy outside and all I feel like doing is falling asleep. But, I have been to the gym two days in a row and I don’t want to stop the routine now. And afterwards, I’ll do my laundry and take a shower. Make dinner in between. I am excited for so little. And I am only staying alive for him, tea, and pretty dresses. Those are the only things that make me happy. Happy or distracted? I don’t think I’m ever happy, I think I only get distracted for a little bit. If I tell my therapist any of this, would she send me to a hospital? I could probably make use in a hospital. Knowing that there is no easy way to handle this but keeping to myself. And when I die, these journals can do whatever they want. I feel misled. I was never supposed to be here. There is another life for me much better than this one. Today, I want to feel manic. I think I am. I have no more thoughts. Can I leave an hour early for work? I don’t think I’m worth anything to anybody. And how much longer until he gets back? I need him. I need anybody right now. Do I need to permission to speak? I just want to sleep. I’ll regret it if I don’t go to the gym. Maybe I’ll make up for it tomorrow. Can someone hold me until I fall asleep?

Summer 2017 
Days 22 & 23
6/8 - 6/9

Yesterday, I did not get out of bed until noon. It was a miserable sleep. A miserable time. I convinced myself to make waffles on a light blue plate and do my laundry, clean my room, and take a shower for the first time in days. And I am trying to put everything down and replace it with kindness. That is all I want to produce. I realized this last night in a fit of crying under my bed on the telephone. I told him how dark I was feeling, how it has been lately. He told me to tell my therapist, that someone else could understand and help much better than he could. I was upset at the words. 

But, the next morning, I understood. He did not ask for this. He is not going to know what to do or how to respond when I call him crying my eyes out and asking for anything but hurt. He wants me to get the best help, and he just doesn’t know what to do, so I cannot blame him. He does what he knows he can. He makes me tea, points out dogs, and turns up the radio when it plays a song he thinks I’ll like. I get to see him in a few hours and I am so excited. He returned from Florida yesterday and he is already on his way to come see me. Why do I get these random sparks of motivation and contentment? It is not happiness; it is just a feeling of knowing that I will always feel this way and knowing what to do to make it as painless as possible. I accept it and manage it the best I can. He should be here soon, I’ll write about that happiness later. 

Summer 2017 
Days 24, 25, 26, & 27
6/10 - 6/13

And just like that, a handful of events have happened in the past few days that have significance to me. On Friday, after work, I spent the night at his place, where the cats are. It’s surprising what the presence of a cat can do. I spend a year without a furry friend living with me in close quarters, and the sight of one lifts me up instantly. Their names are Smokey and Bandit, a plump grey friend and a wide-eyed, loving baby. He and I ate sweets and watched a strange film called Carnegie Park. It had hostages and blood and guns, three things that I wish I could put down as my extracurricular activities on resumes. But, the significant part starts on Saturday. I spent the day with the Terry’s in Columbia, SC. All seven of them. I don’t like to include myself in many social circles, at least not so intensely, so they are my favorite, favorite people.

It started out around noon with a car ride with boy and his father. It was full of small talk and his father kindly sitting in the back, so I could be his son’s passenger. Is it odd that I feel like my father would never do that? We ate at a restaurant called Yesterday’s where I sat between boy and his brother. I felt flustered. We spent the meal making fun of each other and discussing Journey’s music and the upcoming Tony Awards. I know we talked about more, but the restaurant was loud and crowded, and our waitress was the kind of pretty that makes you think about yourself. I rubbed my hands under the table and just hoped that this would be a good enough distraction. I was proud of myself for rubbing my thumbs together instead of digging my nails into my palms. These are the things I am proud of. Afterwards, we jaywalked across the street to Insomnia Cookies, where I couldn’t eat anything. Regardless, I loved seeing everyone pick out a treat. And I want to write about everything else, but I am tired.

I feel constantly bonded and distant. Saturday was supposed to be a pleasant day, but it was not and it was because of how I was feeling, what my mind grotesquely does. It is in every situation I place myself in. I know this is not a one-sided fling with the world. It hands me these feelings and I take whatever I can get. Saturday, it was there. When I walked around a bookstore, when I laughed, when I saw him picking out comics, it was there: the pathic feeling that trips you up. On Sunday, I got really drunk. I threw up all night and felt for the first time in a long time. The feelings were vomit and sticking my fingers down my throat, but feelings nonetheless. And Monday was hell. I skipped work. I didn’t make it to therapy. I have cried every day. My stomach hurts and my bed seems to be hurting more than helping. I cannot wait to just have a board-game night. 

By Breia Gore