I’m thinking only of my illness and my health, though both, the first as well as the second, are you.

     Sometimes I think I'm dying. The moments when my bones are undeniable heavy are the moments when I feel the devil trying to take me again. When I feel nothing but a cruel symphony that sings only of my unreasonable expectations, I feel as if I finally have crooked.  Aren't I dramatic, with my prose made of raven calls and mourning flowers? I can be so emotional, that really is my hubris, my fluctuation of sensations that infects me. I can be so aggressive one moment, then lost in hysteria and finally hopeless. I am a frequent visitor of the anxiety hotel on worry street and one day I hope that my punch card for the stress market will burn away. 

                Back to the point, my health has always been rough, I have a frail body that seeks to perish. Keeping it running is almost a chore, why can't I eat or sleep properly? Some days, I am starving, with the desire to rip and tear through flesh, and other days I see food as a burden to consume. I blame the antibiotics for this, they limited my appetite when I was taking them to the point of only eating yogurt. Unfortunately, that sensation still stays and I still have the desire to eat yogurt most mornings and nights (to be frank at this moment, I the writer of this wretched diary went down stairs to get a yogurt(I am not joking.)) However to contend with my oscillation of being ravenous or empty, I also have the issue of my constant drowsiness that become anxiety filled terror when I try to rest. This I have no excuse, I stay awake most nights just thinking. It can be incredibly difficult to relax, I have found only a few things that bring me calm: A nice cup of tea and a good book, drawing or creating art, and being with my sparrow or even my cat for that matter. Other than that, people and school with their unpredictable and uncontrollable yet stupid natures frustrate me and stress me out. Maybe that's why some nights I can only see my worries instead of dreams.

    I just need to sleep for a while, I need to lay down somewhere comfortable and rest, without my stress chasing me down . Or maybe a hot shower would do me some good, a real long one too. Perhaps everyone I know and talk to ion a daily basis not being idiots would be beneficial too, that is something that would be a luxury.

I'll be fine, I always find the time to recharge and to get healthy, some days, the low periods just feel so low when in reality, they are just ripples on a pond.

“Milena, if a million loved you, I am one of them, and if one loved you, it was me, if no one loved you then know that I am dead.”
― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena 

“Without you I wouldn’t have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera 

 

Isn't it funny how my two favorite writers wrote letters to their lovers which were later compiled. Maybe someone will do this when I am dead.

She was like Marat only with nobody to kill her.

     

    Seldom have I looked towards stars and seen nothing but fractured light. Because, I guess, stars to me have always been a constant in my life, I see them as something beyond science. When I had no other place to go, i would loose myself in the cavalcade of stars and moonlight. As of now, I feel assured of where I am heading, and instead of loosing myself in their mystery, I instead look to the sky to assure myself, I am going the right way. though I do have an undeniable sense of worry that infects me, I still feel like everything I have done, every decision I have made, led me to the right place. I'm happy, I really am.

                     I've been clean of my suicidal thoughts for almost a year, my self harming for two and my eating disorder for three! I'm proud of myself, I'd never though I'd make it this far, and I have an innate desire to scream out on the roof how happy and proud of myself I am. I feel like I deserve good things to come, and I'm both scared and excited for the long life ahead of me. I really shouldn't spend my time worrying, I spent enough time doing that while rotting in bed. I've worked hard to be the best version of myself I can, i think I can give myself some time not to worry. Just for a bit though, I have to feel prepared if the aliens finally take me away or I get murdered, you never know nowadays :).

I have to get around to writing down my shitty poetry, it was my New year resolution, yeah yeah, they're stupid goal setting bullshit, but every year I make one. I wrote down some, but it is heinously bad that sharing that would stain this blog. So I guess I did it, but maybe sharing it would be thee next step.

In this moment, I want to hold on to this life, growing up is scary, I'm kind of excited, but at the same time I can't help but want to cry beads made of happiness and daisies, I want to hold on to moments like pictures, keeping them in boxes forever. But as I grow, I know they are bound to fade, so right now, I will hold onto them, before I let them fly away, making way for their replacements.

                                                         God, love makes me irrational, can I not go two seconds without being in Cupid's grasp with my heart strings playing Tchaikovsky's symphonies with every beat. I am sick with an incurable sickness that renderers me idiotic and completely unobtainable at times. I am Eros's bitch and my sensibilities can't help but crumble.

 “It is late now, I am a bit tired; the sky is irritated by stars. And I love you, I love you, I love you – and perhaps this is how the whole enormous world, shining all over, can be created – out of five vowels and three consonants.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

You are the sun, I am the moon
You are the words, I am the tune
Play me

 

I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want

     If I wasn't such a worrier, I think I'd be unstoppable. I hate having a giant pit in my stomach, I'm only seeing the bad of everything, I'm seeing the worst parts of myself and all the mistakes I could make. 

                    I worry about my health and devolving into a pile of blood infecting a hospital bed. I worry about my appearance, if my view of myself is a lie I sooth myself with. I worry if the person I love will leave me and leave my heart ruined.  I worry that once again I will be disregarded by every adult around me. I worry that once again I will feel too depressed to move.

    I just want to feel calm, I want to trust myself to feel comfortable.

“If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I think going feral and letting everything help might help

Rapid Change in a World of Curiosities

     My thoughts are nothing, I've been too stressed to eat, write and think. All I want to do is find the comfiest bed and watch movies with my love. But instead, I rot while writing papers and thinking about plants. I burnt myself out, trying to finish everything at once, however I became a dead match unable to light anything. All I want is to reset, find a place with no worries and stay until my brain can write again.

    I want to create art and read, but instead I find myself in the last place I want to be, with only my fear of failure to guide me. I'll get out of this rut, I always do, it's just a matter of taking things slow, rolling with the punches if I have to.

Recently I have the desire to put myself in a cocoon and go through a metamorphosis, all my stress peeling off of me. That would be nice.