A big X slashed into the door. Everything is ripped. Everything is destroyed. Nobody is home, so I can play my music really loud without fear of getting in trouble for just a few minutes.
Sometimes I think for sure that I am going crazy, and I love it more than I should. I feel out of control. I’m sassy and obnoxious. There is nothing inside me, I have nothing to lose. On these days, I have learned that I have no choice but to accept and embrace the emptiness. It’s very refreshing to write all over your arms with lipstick and sing at the top of your lungs and break everything in reach and ignore everyone and not give a fuck.
But when I’m not spinning out of control and laughing madly to myself, I am carrying around something else, someone who sits on my back and whispers about how I am the worst thing that has ever happened and how everything in my life is awful and nothing is really worth living for. The darkness inside me convinces me that the world is a bad place, and nothing means anything. I feel this overwhelming anger. Meds don’t seem to drive it away. Maybe it’s just who I am. Maybe I am an angry person naturally, and no matter what happens, I will always be angry with myself and the world and everything I know.
Right now I’m having one of those empty moments where I go for a several-hours-long “walk,” but really I am just sitting on the sidewalk behind Staples, staring into space and trying to remember what my favorite song is. It is all mechanical. It is a world without time, where there is no past to remember and no future to consider. Happiness is becoming less and less frequent. I don’t remember what it feels like. ♦