Wednesday, May 2, 2018

probably when in a state of melancholy i should be allowed either xanax or writing, but not both


every time i look in the mirror i see a different face, a different fragment. splintered shards and they never quite coalesce. i never recognize who i am. today i've had to take too much xanax just to be able to deal with the fact that i'm alive. i've spent too much money and thrown up too many times and eaten too many things and ignored too many phone calls and still i am afraid to sleep.

everything is quiet here and i am just waiting, just biding time. what for, i could not say. as if something will come along to sweep this all away, as if i wait long enough my shards will magically adhere and i will stop fumbling.




i'm looking for a reset button and finding none. maybe it's disabled. maybe in this life you only get one shot and if someone fucks you up at the beginning, gives you too much or not enough when you're too young to protest, you're stuck with it. and what then? then you are twenty five in a city you hate with no future plans and spending sunday evenings drugged out of your mind and wishing, really wishing you hadn't been born in the first place. that things would've been better off that way for everyone involved.




xanax takes away the anxiety but not the general malaise, not the underlying fear and shame. in this lies the danger. this would translate to recklessness if i had the ability to get out of the nest.

what i wouldn't give to sleep without fear, to leave the house without drugs, to eat a normal meal, be pleased at fullness. to see in the mirror something that i will not run from.

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