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| the girl in front of me trying to get into m deck waves for me to back up. she seems in a rush so i hop out and let her into the deck. she thanks me but asks how she's going to get out. i run back to my car and grab her an extra token that i didn't need. she genuinely thanks me. i smile and let her know it's not a problem at all. my good deed for the day.
.beau
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| medicated the whole day and all the anxiety that hits in 24 hours i feel in 5 seconds. i'm not sure if it's the pills, being uncomfortable being out in public or the fact you're dating someone else. i ask you to stop because i'm going to be sick. sarcastic as i may be this time i'm dead serious. crossing the railroad tracks i ask you to continue to krystal. "yeah i'm fine, i'll meet you inside." dry heaves and a lucky strike later i feel no better. at the theatre i give away our seats because i don't think i could make it. we walk back to the car and i still feel like shit. throwing up always make me feel better so i ask you the questions i need answered. like an emotional punch to the stomach i feel it coming up. running to the tracks. too much practice/experience has taught me to puke properly. just street lights but i can see the pizza. i really should chew my food better; it looks the same as it did at lunch. eyes wide shut i stumble down the rock hill and it starts to rain. driving home sounds so good right now. not well enough yet i grab an umbrella for you and for me and we continue the talk. i can't do this now and i feel stupid for thinking i could handle what i was hearing. round two and the rain picks up. toss the umbrella by the tracks with my hands on my knees and i empty whatever was left in my stomach. craving sleep. you stood out in the rain when you could've sat in the car. that says something. just pass 285 and i can't finish the drive. we switch and you chauffeur me home. "we have got to teach you how to drive on the highway." we get to my place and i throw up again. white foam and spit. nice way to round out the day. i'm in bed and you call to get a ride. you hug me goodbye and promise to text when you get home. wake up the next morning and you're not there. a killer headache and i'm hungry. aspirin, zoloft and chinese leftovers. the shower feels good. dry off and reach for my toothbrush. notice yours isn't there anymore. flashback. i remember telling you that i can't have it in my house. makes things real. a chemically produced smile and i'm ready for the day.
.beau | | |
| i guess the clear mind is nice though. the nausea isn't. and i'm tired at all the wrong times. get home from class and i crash. wake up at 11 and i'm wide awake. i just want to sleep. grab my bowl and light up. zoloft and marijuana? things i guess i shouldn't mix. fuck it, i'm a pharmacist. 3 hits in. i get really hot. maybe this wasn't a good idea. sink. cup. water. no; this wasn't a good idea. it's been several days since i've had to deal with the thousands of words, to do lists, song lyrics and other nonsense that became commonplace in my head and i no longer know how to handle it. i'm on fire even though the house is set at 7o° and fans are on. it's so loud in my head. face into porcelain too many times. i want to throw up. i want to sleep. arm across the throne propping my head up just in case both happen at the same time. and suddenly silence. the thoughts are gone. medicine or me? at this point i don't care. i no longer feel sick. i stare at my reflection and i look like a fucking junkie. i cry harder than i have in a long time. curled up on my bathroom floor. "i just want to be better." when i get up i take a good hard look at myself.
mirror please, is that me?
or someone i may know; that's not me.
with everything on my shoulder, it could be.
maybe i'm in denial; wake me up please.
i just hope, i just hope it's a bad dream.
i crawl into bed. tuck myself in. start to fall into what feels like a k-hole. side a la maison de mon rêve. and i plan on going.
.beau | | |
| as i pull into m deck and trek up the mountain
i looks at the clock and notice it's 5 after noon
this is when my 15 minutes late rule applies
can't get to aderhold in time so i will take mine
top floor and pull into my spot
notice some trash around so i take some pictures
put my camera away and notice how red my bookbag is
maybe it's the sunlight
or the cirrus cloud coverage
grab my stuff for class and head to the plaza to smoke a cigarette
look down at my nikes and cuffed pants
i belong in the nineties
sit and smoke
i receive a text message to which i reply
"it's cool. i'm adjusting to it"
talk out loud to the hero in my head
"ad justing"
"a justing"
it doesn't sound right when read write
maybe that's why i keeping typing this fucking book
i've become quite the mumbler
most people don't understand me when i speak
but maybe you'll listen when you read
few facts
i'm living in silent hill
i'm a pharmacist
i smoke with a white lighter
waking up in an armchair with my head in the trash
liquid chocolate chip cookies
i get to the bathroom to wash off my face
change my shirt and shorts in the car
drive to wal-mart to pick up a hoodie for the weather
sobriety is killing me
get to the register and see silent hill for 3 dollars
awesome.
but wait ... it's full screen
boo.
under an influence or three i put the movie in
sleeps like alice in wonderland
i've seen this in my dreams
red eyes on shapeless figures
architecture all wrong like always
this is the most terrifying movie i've ever seen
i've been here before
crash on my bed
deck door still open
title menu skips like a broken record
sleep doesn't come
nor has it visited me here in a while
nightmares and my back breaking keep me conscious until 8 when i decide to down the painkillers
sirens from outside
the ugly couch becomes very comfy
.beau | | |
| it's a weird sight/feeling i have to admit.
i never expected to actually go through with it.
to medicate myself;
to sedate myself.
i want to start this off with:
"for those of you who know me",
but nobody ever knows anyone else.
so i'll start it off like this
i don't believe in this.
i think i did an excellent job managing up until now.
pretentious because i was fighting an uphill battle by myself.
but i guess it's the american way.
i mean, what's the price of my happiness?
knowing that i can deal with the disorders myself
or just taking the bar and live for once.
my medication came with a guide.
words on paper that i've learned in class.
sitting on the examination table i talked to my doctor.
about the drug class i took,
how i don't exactly believe in medication,
how most of the time the placebo effect is greater than what's inside the drug.
he assured me that this one will work.
we talk for a few more minutes.
lunch with mom.
being a nurse i trust what she says.
we talk and laugh.
i walk out of cvs with my bottle.
mixed emotions.
i think what i'm trying to get at is i feel like i've let myself down.
the meds may help, but i feel bad because i can't do it on my own anymore.
i feel like i gave up; like the strength that i've had for years just up and left.
i don't want to be like the rest of the prescription generation.
i like my thoughts the way they are because this is the only way i've known how to live.
i don't know how things will be, but i have six weeks of transition.
i reread some of my entries today.
not all of them feel like they are mine,
but i know i typed every word.
for as long as i can remember i've never been happy.
maybe it is time to balance everything.
get my life in order.
ducks in a row.
cross the t's dot the i's.
honesty is the best policy.
baby steps.
day by day.
the only growth i believe in is human.
bipolar disorder
insomnia
anxiety
panic attacks
depression
acting on dangerous impulses
suicidal thoughts
this next month and a half is my flowers for algernon.
this is how i learned to smile and swallow the pill
.beau
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