Into the void...
“That night she sat for hours, too numb even to drink, teaching herself to breathe in a vacuum. For this, oh God, was the void. There was nobody who could help her. Nobody in the world. They were all on something, mad, possible enemies, dead.”
-Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49
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2002-07-19
4:25 p.m.
I'd just like to go on record right now as saying that this has been the shittiest week in the history of the world. At the moment, the list of major bodily complaints I'm experiencing is as follows: significant headache and feeling that my head is about twice as heavy as it should be, serious heaviness in my chest that makes me feel like I can't breathe, extreme muscle tightness that clenches my lungs together even more, sore throat that feels like someone stuck a hammer in my trachea for the sheer enjoyment of it, dizziness, queasiness, general feeling of impending horror, tingling legs, blackness around the edges of my vision, legs that feel like they can't support any weight at all,....
It's Friday, and this is about the best I've felt all week.
My hearing makes everything sound distant. My neck is too tired from supporting my head and feels like it's slowly turning to cinder beneath the weight of my overburdened brain. My nose can't ever seem to siphon in enough air to satisfy that continual feeling that I can't breathe. I realize this doesn't make any sense at all, but it feels like there's a completely random baseball bat stuck vertically in between my spine and my stomach.
And this is good.
Strangely, some of the most disturbing moments I've encountered this week have been on the commute to or from work. Something about the bus just makes me feel like I'm going to implode. I think I may have forgotten to mention that I feel like I'm about to puke.
I don't get it. I'm trying; really, I am. I can't think of a whole hell of a lot more that I can do to try and "fix" this mental illness of mine. I can't think of a single goddamn thing that would calm me down and allow me to relax. Alcohol certainly isn't doing it. If alcohol were to be my salvation, I'd be feeling like the Queen of England these days.
What can I do?
The bunny is frequently a source of a bit of relaxation in my life, but I've even been a little too tired to feel like playing with the bunny much lately. I'm too tired to do anything, including sleep. I'm hungry, but when I eat, I feel sick. I'm tired, but when I lay down, my heart starts pounding. I want to read, but my eyes hurt. I want to watch TV, but the shows are too mindless and dull. I want to work on my book, but it aggravates the anxiety.
Goddamn, my head hurts.
I have two new slashes on my arm from last night. For some reason, as I look at them now, I'm disappointed that they're not deeper, more painful, or more unsightly. They look too simple to suggest exactly what it is that needs to be expressed. And what needs to be expressed? Who the fuck knows?
I got rained on this morning. That suddenly seems important. I like rain. It got me wet.
Fuck.
