(no subject)
i am letting things fall.
everything i write and draw is reaching towards something, trying to touch that part of me that is damaged... trying to express what exactly was damaged, how, and by whom. and yet after all these years, i still do not know, i still fall victim to that endless cycle, that fucking spiraling descent into myself that leads--where? where?
many cures have been attempted: my own attempts at self-medication through denial and self-destruction and even good faith attempts at following the medical precepts of doctors who could not explain what was wrong with me, either. the fact of the matter is that these things did not work because they did not know, and i still do not know, the wheres and whys of the diseased bit of my soul that continues to hurt, every day and night. it was never the eating/not eating, the cutting, the drugs and pills, the disorders that they so casually labelled me with... there is something else there that i cannot see, only feel.
just a wrongness...
therefore, as i said, i let things fall; i pull myself inward, protecting what i can, saving what i can. days can go by without my saying a word beyond that of interfamilial necessity (i.e., just enough to keep the small circle of people i cannot avoid from coming to the conclusion that i am, indeed, losing it) and i consider myself lucky if i am able to see a friend once every few months. i cannot bring myself to function in a socially adaptive manner, i do not know whom i can or cannot trust. what people do not touch, they cannot hurt. so i will not be touched, and therefore will not be hurt again... or at least this is what i tell myself, over and over again, regardless of the actual veracity of my reasoning.
so once again, i circle back downwards and inwards, asking the central question that everything in my life leads to: what is wrong with me? what is wrong with me? what is wrong with me? if only i could define it, i could contain it. until then, it will continue to spread, and i am feeling helpless to stop it.
(oddly enough, i do not feel particularly sorry for myself. this is what my karma has brought me; it is my dharma to live this life until i cannot live it any longer. in the meantime, i will soldier on in hopes of finding something of meaning within this single life of mine.)
(and yet-- i know nobody said it would be easy, but, oh, does it have to be so hard?)
post-script: i am sorry if this does not make any sense, and i am sorry to have been so gloomy lately. i actually do have seasonal affective disorder, so that layered on top of my usual depressive mood swings just makes everything seem worse than it probably is.