Thursday, 9 January 2014
The Bad is Coming to Get Me
I’m feeling bad. Again. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe it’s just one of those days (it is Tuesday after all).
The last one certainly isn’t the reason. You don’t have more than 40 days of ‘those days’ consecutively and remain ‘just’ having anything.
Some people don’t understand a person feeling so extremely BAD but not crying, not moving, not making a fuss, not doing…anything normal ‘feeling bad’ people do.
I want to see the Doc again. I want a shrink. I want some new pills. I want better ones. I want the Bad to go away. I want to be skinnier. I want to run away on holiday. I want more money. I want a pet monkey…I want the new…the better…I want….I want to just be god damn happy .
There’s been something behind me. Or maybe it’s above me. Maybe it’s both. I don’t know. But something, I can feel something getting closer, gaining on me. It has been for ages. It is ‘the Bad’. It hasn’t seen me yet. But it will soon. Because there’s only me and there’s only it and I’m the only one it wants. So it’s coming.
I’m feeling scared. Not screamy scared, no. But flinchy scared. Sleep with one eye open scared. I hope it doesn’t come at night because you’re not allowed to have ‘one of those days’ in the night. People are sleeping. The world is sleeping and you must be good and quiet and pretend to be asleep also. You must stay in your bed and not disturb. But what if it comes? What if it comes?
I’ve got pills for night time. Doctor’s orders. Keep them close. Under the bed. In the drawer. Take one. Or two. Two means you’ll knock things over, even in the morning. But at least two makes it safer. Better hidden. I’ve got pills for the day, but they don’t hide me; they just stop me crying so much.
I want to see the Doc and I want to see a shrink. I want the Doc to make me feel like smiles from the bottle and I want to shrink to come and get the thing coming for me and kill it.
I want to be normal. I just want to be normal.
This is why you shall not hear me slagging off those ‘silly girls’ of society that so many people mouth off about. The girls that stride around in groups smelling like a terrorist attack just happened in Boots perfume depo. Those girls in crowds in the toilets, applying ever more layers of makeup to their masks. Those girls who ‘annoy’ with their coarse laughter, jostle with their huge patent bags. Yet their crises are so black and white. So rational. Boys. Bags. Work. Beauty. Money. Sex. Work. Parties. Money. Uni. Sex. Beauty. Lack of money. Travel. Clothes. Sex. Boys. LIFE!
It turns my stomach to hear the high and mighty haughtily ‘validating’ their own struggles and traumas against those of such girls. In my opinion; if you are in such a comfortable position as to be able to sit back and compare your troubles to those of others, well then they are just as invalid as theirs.
When you have real mental suffering it is all you can do to not bloody kill yourself let alone take a break to have a quick shifty about to make sure you’re still better than other people at ‘doing’ suffering.