Plathological

freezer, Something Like a Home

I have never been so scared as I was for the past few hours. I felt as if all my skin was blue. Beet blue. A really indescribable feeling, most likened to the phrase liquid anxiety. If only it were that easy--a bus stop right in front of your doorstop, five strides away from warmth, a lit interior. Instead, I ran home from the bus stop, realizing it was dark, said, “oh, hello dark,” with what air I could find--to release. Flung open my door, turned my heat up to thirty and threw myself onto some red cushions on my hardwood, weeping, screaming, and snotting, my body frozen with nothing more than cold, actual cold. I felt hypothermic. Realized I really have no one, in any direction. There’s really no one I can call and explain any of this to. Who the Fuck would understand this? Since I’m frozen solid cube-like, my body in premoulded cubes, and can’t tell how much of my hearing has returned.

I can stay in bed for three weeks from this moment on and no one would even think to look for me. I just want some fucking warmth. I feel like I'm a random but somehow necessary page everyone flips through without actually reading sentence by sentence. I don‘t know what I’m doing but I can’t do it anymore.

Everything I said today was true.

People only like me when it’s convenient, for them, of course. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter what you do with your life. When has it ever mattered?? What is all this stuff I am trying to DO and for who and for what and what the fuck in God's name does this thing want from me? Why do I keep working for it? Why am I so inept at working for it? People’s lives seem to have a more or less novelesque sequential order, whereas mine reads more like a short story collection----start anywhere, finish nowhere, re-read or skip over, so much flipping back. Too heavy a thread tying it together, thematically. I’m too horrible. I’m just too fucking horrible a person. So many unexpected things in my place have bloodstains on them. & what the hell am I supposed to do about that? I don’t know how to remove blood. I’ve never known how to remove blood.

A rather interesting way to die, of course, would be overdosing on purpose on one’s drug of choice--cocaine, for example. I’M SO FUCKING TERRIFIED.

I slept for two hours last night. I was too manic to go to sleep until four-thirty in the morning. I was jumping all over my room.