damik's Diaryland Diary

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the rope is frayed

I hold onto my cat like he's a life preserver, he holds onto me like he understands.
I feel so isolated from everyone, like I'm functioning underwater. Like everyone is on a different plane, and try as I might I can't reach them, and they can't reach me.
I bang my wrist on the armrest of my chair. A dull sensation courses through. Shouldn't it hurt more then that? I hit it harder, but still there is nothing but that dull, padded sensation.
I turn the blade over in my hand. Wait, I tell myself. Just a little bit longer, it will pass. I have to see, I have to see if its real. I have to see what�s under the surface, what�s behind the facade.
And my mind is being fucken psychotic on my because I get the feeling that its only Styrofoam. I close my eyes and all I see is blood, blood and white. I need to paint a happy face on my wall. I haven't done that.
Wait, I tell myself. Its been 87 days. You can get to 90, you can get to 100. It will pass.
It feels so endless, haven't I always felt this way?
I'm so fucken stupid, so pathetic. I start a breakdown for no reason. Its dumb. I'm dumb, I should be able to control it, or at very least hide it so not to bother other people.
My arm hurts, did I already cut?
Oh yah, bang bang bang.
I can't figure out why I'm writing this way. Its not an entry, its nonsense. My mind can't focus on any one thing, then my eyes drift to the window and I stare at the leaves for time.
Who's brilliant idea was it for me to go live in a brick apartment? It feels like a prison. It feels so institutional.
The apartment is a mess around me, a happy little reflection of my life.
I turn the blade over in my hand, its cold, but not as cold as my fingers.
I can wait. I need to take a shower, I can wait untill after my shower.
How come 90 days seems like a lifetime today?
I should hold my hedgehog.
Or curl up in the closet and cry.
I hate that I'm here, I hate that I saw it coming, I knew it was coming, but I couldn't stop it.
I want to take the razor and cut off those fucking acorns. They mock me, they are a farce. I was an idiot to think they could be a symbol of anything in my life.
I want to take the blade and hold it in my clenched fist so tightly, hold it untill blood runs from my palm.
I can't be here anymore. How close can I stand to the edge before I jump?
How did I get here?
Its not real, it doesn't hurt enough to be real.
Funny, I spend so much time trying to dull the sensations I get from the world around me, but when I get here I want to cut so I feel something.
Its cold in my apartment. And I'm all alone. Part of me wonders briefly if that�s true, if I'm really all alone. Oh, look, there is a little me jumping and screaming, she's trying to remind me that I'm not, I have Will, and friends, and even my family to some extent. They are real, not just a trick of my mind.
I have fruit flies in my apartment. Its no wonder considering I can't be bothered to clean it. There was a worm in my artichoke and a spider in my sink.
I didn't write about it yet, but Chuck the fish disappeared last week. I was obsessed with the where about of Chuck. He wasn't in the tank anywhere. Will thought maybe his other fish ate him, but there wasn't any remains. It didn't seem like they could have eaten him bones and all, not in the time he came up missing.
No, Chuck the fish jumped. Or as Will says, he went to the light. Dumb bastard jumped right out of the tank. It couldn't have been a quick death either because he flopped a good distance away from the tank. We found him petrified days after his disappearance.
I need to ground myself. Plant my feet and walk a steady path.
And maybe put the litter box in the rabbit cage instead of the hedgehog cage.
Do you think it would hurt if I jammed a knife into my leg?
Has my whole life been a mistake?
What am I doing here?

9:36 a.m. - 06-17-03
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