The Stars Never Align

My legs are restless
But I’m tired

I sat on the second floor of the library this afternoon. Right where one glass window meets another. I liked who I was. My thoughts came effortlessly, but clustered. Still connected. I wish I would’ve had a pen and paper, or my laptop at the time so I could’ve captured them in their entirety.

I thought about how different things look when framed by four sides. Like a zoo of people and their interactions. First I saw two men sitting on a bench in my right glass panel. I had the nagging thought that they were looking up, watching me as I read my book, because I have been trained to be afraid of men that way. Rightfully so. Because I am young, and beautiful, and usually dressed in such a way to attract unwanted attention. But when I looked up, they had left. What a narcissist I am.

The caffeine in my French Press mirrored the 4 cups of coffee a day drank by the protagonist in the book I was reading. Used as a replacement for food. It brought me back. She brought me back. She brought her back. For a bit. I ate too much today.

A white dog ran across my left glass panel, unleashed, long legs. In the tree beside was its human, climbing down, surprising fast for her species. I noticed how she had come here with the company of only the dog. How she climbed the tree, not to show off to anyone, solely for herself. For a reason that someone on the other side of the glass wouldn’t know, unless I were to go down and ask her. Isn’t it funny, that a human of her age climbing a tree could provoke that much thought in another human of the around the same age? Things were different at one point, and I can’t find the point in time where they changed.

A couple got out of a car in my right panel. The male, who had been driving, went around to the other side of the car as his companion got out. They both huddled together to look at something, not too closely though. I wondered if he would grab her hand, or she his. But they walked away down the sidewalk to the left. And now I’m not sure if he held her to him as they walked, or not.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the branches in my left panel shift. It took a while for me to find the squirrel who had caused the movement, then I realized it was with another. I didn’t pay too much attention to how they interacted, probably because there wasn’t much. For a bit, it made me feel like everything tied into one another, just like the corner that marked the meeting point of my left and right panel. I look at the couple again, now in the same panel as the squirrels.

I stayed in that panel, and watched the dog and its human. The dog had come back to the human after running around, and she held its face. It would look away, and she would grab it again, Look in its eyes and hold its face. She did this three times. Then grabbed a branch and threw it. The dog chased it, but did not return with it. She put on a black sweater.

There was now a different couple sitting at the picnic table in my right panel. Sitting together, arms touching, both on their phones. I thought of how I had left my phone at home that day, on accident. I left it at home with messages that I was obligated to reply to, as well as messages and interaction I was waiting to receive. Without the option to grab it and look at the time, or how many more likes my picture had gotten, I was left alone with my thoughts, panning from left to right, usually repeating themselves at least four times.

Time. I had looked at a clock earlier, and it looked like it was twenty minutes after five (although it was really four). Five made much more sense to me, as I felt I had been there for at least an hour. I had found a book, finished half of it, used the restroom, changed seats, and watched three different people leave the area around me. I began to feel anxious as I sat. With my constant movement of my right leg came the constant thought that I had been stranded, that my family had come to pick me up, but could not find me and assumed I had left. I tried to focus on anything but that, the world going on in the connected panels, the stream left behind from an airplane, the thoughts that stemmed from the thought of flying. The setting of the strip club, to the half blind drunken driving, to the passed out significant other, to the steam from the shower, to the talk of bones that I held much closer to me than I’d want any stranger passing me on the street to know.

Only distracted for a bit, I headed downstairs and placed my book on the stand I had found it. I saw a boy who I thought was beautiful, at least in passing, and thought about what it’d be like to tell him so. Only thought. The clock showed 4:45 to my surprise. Time, although equally measured in quantities, is not necessarily experienced in them. At least from my experience. I heard the library was about to close in my second trip to the restroom from a mother to her daughter. I walked outside, clutching my now cold and almost empty coffee to my chest so my arms covered the fact that I never wear a bra.

I walked fast, unable to think like I was previously, overcome with the thought that I wouldn’t get to my parents’ car before they left, thinking I was still at the library. But when I got there, I waited for what seemed like forever, although it was probably only 15 minutes.

What is the feeling of forever?

I started to talk to them as they approached the car, I was a completely different person before I had sat before those glass panels. I’m never the same person for more than a few hours. And I didn’t like who I was when I filled the air with the white noise of my words. So pointless, so meaningless. I looked out the tinted window at the white wall it framed at the end of Riverside. My brained spewed blood in a splatter, coming from my head, triggered by the trigger of a gun.

I hate how involuntary the thought of a bullet through my brain and bloodstains has become. Almost like breathing, not aware of it until you think of the action. When I feel uncomfortable, I imagine the barrel of a gun to my head, and the trigger being pulled. Blood, on the street, on the wall, in the dirt. No, I hate it. I don’t want to kill myself at all. I don’t know why it happens. A habit. Maybe worse than any other I have. But maybe not, because of how much I’ve disassociated myself from the reality of the thought. I would never. I really would never. I don’t know why my brain does this, I really, really don’t.

My heart pulsed so violently four hours from the caffeine. So much that when I held my breath, it shook my vision every time it hit. But not anymore than it does when I wake up in the morning. For the past three or so weeks, it’s been consistent. Heart beating so hard, I want to tear it out of my chest. I just want it to calm and let me sleep. I’m afraid it’s because I’ve only had 5 nights since the day before my birthday that I haven’t gotten plastered to the walls of my skull, held by the nails of alcohol. That was lame. That was a lame rhyme. I’m not drunk tonight, and I can’t sleep. This is just a stage. Please. (The state of my heartbeats is starting to worry me, and I hope that’s just another one of my lies).

I hate how we’re always searching for our soulmate, which is honestly such as distraction. Fabricating feelings out of nothing, or of the ethanol I keep pumping in my bloodstream, or the lack of food I’m avoiding again but really cannot tell anyone about because that’s awful, and it was so awful, but it won’t be awful this time. Fabricating from the serotonin rise and falls that’s fucking with everything. EVERYTHING. The explanation of chemical levels behind human “feelings” make me feel a bit more okay, or sane, or whatever, because there’s a science behind it. Levels, suppression, duality (which is unrelated), it doesn’t matter, but it does. It’s honestly not that. I know what I want. Why am I doing this. https://soundcloud.com/music-taro/new-age 

Link explains 57% of 80% of everything I (my brain) has been going through for this past .01041666666% of my life so far. Last number was calculated, first two were just estimates. Fuck, does this really make it any easier? I’m drunk, but grammatically correct. I’ve been drunk since the 17th of September (and also still always grammatically correct, even while operating a motor vehicle.) Drive all the time. Drunk 8-15% of that time. It’s fucked, but I’m sort of invincible. It’s really just a stage, just like the Vyvanse. It’ll turn into something else in a while, whether it be “good’ or “bad” for me.

Is mental illness really a thing? Not for me. I just keep over reacting, and getting over it, and reacting, and neutralizing, but usually over-compensating. The levels in my brain are healthy, I’ve just been being a little bitch since the fourth grade. Shit. I know what I want, I just need to get there. This doesn’t make sense to anyone but me, and that’s what make me love my solidarity, and hate the thought/act of intimacy. Ick feeling. Ick feeling.  

I just need to get this out of my head. I don’t want to be sinking when I wake up tomorrow again. And again, and again.

I hope I never fall in love again, I’ve gained so much sanity, lost so much anxiety through being alone. I’m just not the type of person who should share their life with another. I’m poisonous, I suffocate, I’m shitty to be in a relationship with, I damage trust to the point of being unrepairable. I’m the type of person that others doubt they were ever in love with. I hope I never fall in love again. Reading all of that hurt, but I was not damaged by it due to the fact that I’m content being alone, my bed is not lonely and neither are my days or nights. I am a bit angry though. That was mean. Pretty fucking mean. But true. I am poison. It was my fault for looking, I let curiosity get the best of me, and I feel a bit crazy for it. But curiosity isn’t crazy, just human. It’s what you do with what you find that makes you crazy or not. I’ve written a song about it. So I guess I am a little crazy. I wish you the best as I always have, and it makes me smile to see how far you’ve come and where you’re going. You’ll share the excitement of living your dream and those little beautiful moments in life with her, come home to her, everything I wanted to do with you. And that’s what I thought would hurt the most when you were no longer a part of my life. Knowing you’ll do all those things I wanted with you, but you didn’t want with me, with someone else. But I’m smiling for some odd reason. And I’m not sure why my heart isn’t sinking as it should be. All I can do is thank the stars that it isn’t. You were the best friend I ever had, and probably ever will have, as I’ve realized though these past few months of being anxiety free and actually happy, that I cannot be with someone, anyone on an intimate level. I like feeling sane with slower heartbeats. I like the space in my mind. I hope nobody ever fills it again. I can go wherever I want without the fear of craving another’s presence. I haven’t ripped my driver’s license in half or thrown pizzas or said I want to get hit by a car out loud in four months (I am sorry). I’ve just been losing my driver’s license, eating pizza’s, and dancing in cars. I’m not ready to grow up. I never have been.

Sometimes, I want to kill myself. Not because I’m depressed, but because I am stressed. Cross it all off my list with one stoke of a pen. 

Put me back in the zoo. PUT ME BACK.

i hope somebody reads this. anyone. my thoughts are too loud to keep to myself. even with my body exhausted, and an 8.5 hour shift, 3 hours away, i cannot quiet them. i know what i want so endlessly. it covers my entirety and fills my bones. this cannot be put out until what i want is what i am, what I’m experiencing. it scares me. i keep falling on vices that temporarily subdue, but leave me feeling like i was never happy in the first place. when i know i was. i was ecstatic just to exist. running through the dark, white flowers overhead, curing the soiled atmosphere in my lungs. i can pull myself out. i don’t know why i keep coming back. swallowing pills and inhaling until I’m left sleepless. I’m so scared. I’m so scared that my last breathe will be fueled by regret. I’m doing great, and then i slip. its all in your head. you are your mind. please listen to your heart pounding. head pounding. thoughts, voices pounding. how soon until I’m driven to the point of insanity? I’ve blocked out nightmares that used to surface though my consciousness. just close my eyes, and there they were. i don’t know how. and i don’t know what’s right. i know i have to sleep, but i sometimes forget i am human. i am not invincible. no matter how hard you convince yourself, you’ll still end up in a spinning reality, in which you can barely stand. where the air is thin, and your breaths are heavy. looking back on regrets should only be done so to prevent history from rewriting itself. not to rewrite them yourself. because you can only rewrite them in your mind, that’s as far as they’ll get. i think I’m getting better. but i still suffocate my demons that keep resurfacing. I’m not sure if i should keep doing this until they drown, or if they are immortal. if they cannot be forgotten until I’ve looked them in the eye, let them drag me to the bottom, and let me go. would they let me go? i know they would. so i guess ill just tread water, and see who tires first. tonight, my lungs gave in. they’ve kept me awake all night. i want to turn around, walk through time until i exist in my childhood again. I’m still a kid. I’m just a kid. I am extremely resilient, but again, not invincible. these lights and screens were not mad for me. ill sink back into my pounding head, and hope these two hours will bring sleep. trust in time.

heartbroken, but only half the time.

i dont want to love anyone else, i just want to love myself