When I woke up today, I wanted to stay in bed. My dreams seem to make more sense then my actual life. I dream, and in my dreams I win. When I wake up, I realize that this hangover never ends. Every day I take my pills to wake me up. By the end of the day, my mind has turned degrees, and then I need to take my pills to sleep, and wake up with a mental hangover. This is my life, as a schitzo-effective, basketcase, a child turning 30. I feel like I should look different at my age. I feel like I should be somewhere else. I feel like my hands should stop shaking. I don’t understand why.
Either I am or I am not. Either I am on or I am off. Today, I am on, but feel like I’m off. Is it the one drink I had last night, and the two from the other night. Is it the live television, that makes me cringe, because each person I feel like is staring at me, hearing each jagged thought in my head. Maybe it’s a combination of second hand smoke, and the idea that I wish I was one of them. Maybe it is a combination of all these things.
But the funny thing is I’m not sad, I’m not depressed or angry. Confused maybe, a little down trodden probably, but not upset. Yes, I guess what you call my gift, I call my curse. Because every word I write might come easy from my head. But it comes with alot of toil, a lot of bullshit.
I guess it is just my own perception, it’s a little skewed. When I walk down the street, I feel like every person is judge and jury. I feel like I am gone. But that’s not what makes me sad.
I guess it’s all the confusion that goes along with it. I am gone, but by the next time you see me, I’ll be back again. Probably.
I guess I’m alot like you. You just hide it better.