I am tired, so tired.
I exist from chemical to chemical
in an attempt to regulate my life.
Soma to calm the agitation.
Vicodin for lightning anxiety. OC and Oxy for relief from the endless, anxious despair.
Then the prescribed help: Seroquel (for the screaming white noise); Tenex (for the electrical agitation).
Caffeine to boost back up –
to function, to pretend, to smile and move through the day
Desperately trying to get through,
to quell the desire to run screaming, yelling, throwing myself to the ground pulling out tufts of hair –
in protest against this horrific life of despair, this confined robotic life, the emptiness, the meaninglessness.
Instead, IÂ exist in the ‘quiet desperation’, Â from chemical to chemical – like a trapeze artist grasping first one swinging bar then the next, regulating myself to “normalcy”.
6 comments
You’re an artist.
You have different eyes, ears and senses than most of “normal” people
so you can feel and sense different things than most “normal” people
It can thus serve like a double-edged tool,
It can provide a great, tremendous potentials and blessings to create such unique, beautiful works, like all those great “tormented souls” artists along human history,
but it can also provide a great, tremendous curse, making our daily so-called “real life” to feel so damn mundane, dull, and almost pulling ur hairs out.
I know, because I’m an artist too
But just so u know that u have this great tool,
like a sharp knife,
it’s up to u on how u want to use it.
You don’t have to live in those “normalcy”
You’re a damn artist, just be one.
“What one can be, one must be”
I agree with you niki. I need meds to stay normal, but i don’t want to be normal.
The pain of the cut drives me to be stong. I use it to stay here. I use it to smile.
The meds make it foggy, to cut makes clearer.
What about alcohol? Nothing gives the courage to be honest with yourself and see the world honestly as alcohol.
Thanks for your response, Niki. Not an artist, unfortunately. Just another member of club “bumbled and the botched”, I’m afraid.
Kizzy – I used to cut when I was young (in my 40’s now). It did create a razor clarity (no pun intended, but an interesting and maybe elegant correlation) and seemed to connect me to myself when nothing else could (at that point). I find that writing gives voice to the pain where cutting just drove it further inward. Though it (cutting) did seem like my very own happy secret, a way to hold onto myself, it got to where it didn’t. The fact that you’re at least looking for other avenues to get that same connection is inspiring. I think it’s okay to hold other ‘best try’ behaviors in the wings while we find our footing on our authentic self’s platform. I cut until I didn’t have to anymore. My therapist used to say, “I don’t want to take away your safety until you find another place to anchor”. Made sense to me.
Gray – Yeah, alcohol’s in there, too, unfortunately. My experience is that any emotion discovered and expressed while drinking doesn’t deliver; the illusion that I’ve really discovered something real or true is about the same in its truth as the “ah ha” moments I used to have when I used cocaine.
I like alcohol because it doesn’t impair my thoughts; my decision making isn’t always the best, but I never feel like the alcohol is changing my opinion or making me judge against myself or what my sober self may think. I don’t see my drunk self and my sober self as being different people. There’s simply the elevation that comes with each drink and the sparkling clarity that comes as I return to sobriety.
Yeah, I hear you, Gray. I guess what I should’ve said is that my emotions are somewhat skewed with alcohol. My reduced ability to feel positive feelings (mine is due to PTSD but it can be from just repeated negative experiences/neuropathic wiring) drives me toward any remedy that offers relief. Alcohol enhances my ability to feel positive feelings (skews the mood upward) so, even though I know that the end result will be more depression, when it’s gone on too long, my brain finally says, “Screw it – I need relief now; I’ll deal with tomorrow, tomorrowâ€.
I’ve also noticed that, over time, the anger and sadness are magnified, as well. And it’s gotten a bit less predictable — I may get angry and/or more depressed when I drink or I may get the relief I seek. It’s become more of a crap-shoot which, I think, may explain why so many suicide attempts are made under the influence of alcohol and/or drugs: that which was first a temporary respite from hell suddenly turns into a mangifying glass for that hell.