some days she finds herself sitting in front of the computer with a face that threatens to break into tears. it’s hard to smile when there’s no one smiling back at you; it’s hard to do much else, actually, when her mind is a complete mess of ropes and strings that seem to be unravelling at an alarming rate. and the scariest part is, she doesn’t know why at all. it’s not like there’s much to complain about: life is good, people love her and she loves people; although she feels sick for no apparent reason and starves and stuffs herself alternately — it’s bad for her, she knows, but she can’t help it — some days it doesn’t occur to her to eat at all because she doesn’t feel hungry, and it’s only when she realises she hasn’t eaten at all that she gets hungry, and then she eats, to the perpetual alarm of all her relatives, like crazy. she’s tired of alot of things, that she could tell you, except she gives you a blank stare when you ask her a question and she can’t respond because nothing is going in, nothing is registering, she can’t concentrate because she’s trying to figure out what it is she can’t ignore, and what she’s trying to ignore she can’t ignore because she’s trying to ignore it and when you try to ignore something you inevitably end up not being able to ignore it. it drives her crazy. she sat in the toilet in heeren for half an hour messaging her mother alternately and trying not to cry, and in the end she gives up because she’s in a goddamn cubicle and who the fuck is there to see anyway, and there’s no one queueing outside because she can’t hear any voices nor the telltale shuffling of feet that accompanies the arrival of people. does anyone know how hard it is to stop crying midway and sound okay? the voices over the phone sound cheerful and ask equally cheerfully, where are you, and she replies, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, the tears, that she’s in the toilet and somewhere in heeren. today she sits in her chair in front of her computer and thinks about yesterday while talking to somebody, who’s pretending to cry to make her laugh, which makes her want to cry even more. she knows it’s nothing to cry about but since when has that stopped anyone from crying about anything, and it fucks her up inside to know that she wants to cry about nothing worth crying about at all. what makes it even more stupid is that halfway through she catches herself and asks herself just why the fuck are you doing this, and she stops for awhile and the tears recede. then it’s okay, and it passes. it scares her, the way she’s killing herself. it gets to the point where she’s thankful that there are people willing to be there for her, but she can’t even tell the difference between milk-flavoured tea and tea-flavoured milk, tea-coloured and tea-stained and whatever the hell else it is that tea does to a person. her tastebuds have gone crazy and so will she, slowly. she knows he’s not gonna fuck around with the part of her life that ain’t his, but she’ll let him anyway, because, well, just because.
the amount of self-hate there is is appalling considering the fact that she hates self-hate and why the fuck is she this self-indulgent anyway it’s pathetic. major clash of principles here but everyone knows that when you’re down you don’t really give a shit. suffering, after all, is relative.
so once again, to herself: shit happens. move on, move on, get a move on.