Thursday, April 22, 2010

The Voices

So, early this morning, I met the Mistress of Nightmares.

I've never heard this voice before, but that is the name she gave me. She came to me when I couldn't sleep shortly after 4 AM. When I asked her why she was here, she hushed me in such a slow almost motherly way that I began blushing, even my heart beat rapidly. She was the loudest most realistic voice I ever heard. The only reason I knew she wasn't physically in the room was because she was so close to my ear and I didn't feel any breath. Though, I'm sure if I did, I would have melted into a puddle.

Anyway, she promised me sleep and it came. And what did she give me? A nightmare. I fell to sleep begging her to bring me sleep, that I didn't CARE if it was a nightmare because in my nightmares, I am strong and I can over come anything. But she sent me into the worst sort of nightmare - a realistic one. I don't mean realistic as in I could physically feel anything, I mean realistic as in it was August and I was going back to college. I can't handle that stress right now. Fuck, my only current responsibility is organizing the VKA meet and I'm getting panic attacks over that. If I can't handle a single god damn phone call to a hotel, what makes me think I can handle essays upon essays upon scheduling upon constant fucking work? Yes, I am panicking. I seriously, seriously am.

Last time I woke up like this was the morning I decided to kill myself in October. See, I didn't think it would get this bad again, now that I know what to look out for, what I have and how to monitor it. I also thought I could stop myself from falling. I guess I learned that hard way that you don't fall straight down, you hit rocks along the way of the cliff face. Sometimes, you think it'll hold your weight and you pull yourself up, but the base gives way and there you are, falling again...

I know that if no one else was in the house right now, I'd probably write a small blog and go off to just do it. All last night, I was up with insomnia, just thinking of the ways...

Pills were my first thought, but what pills would I take? I know that advil destroys your liver while you're paralyzed and alive, I wouldn't want to risk something worse with any other substance. I know my dad has prescription sleeping meds, but last time those were misused I was 12 and my stepmom stole a handful trying to end her life. My dad probably blames himself for making them so accessible. If I died from his drugs, I don't think he'd be able to handle it. And he's so messed up already.

Then I thought razor. And what would be better? All I think about when I'm alone is cutting, no, tearing away my flesh in chunks and ripping apart at the seams. As if such a barbaric act could actually give me release. I have already started ripping apart my thighs, what are two wrists more? But then, AGAIN, I chicken out saying "First off, ow. Second off, do I really want to giant slit marks on my wrists for all eternity?" Until the bugs rot me away. Until no one remembers how physically beautiful I am...

A noose, maybe? But, fuck, no rafters. And no rope. God damn.

See? This is exactly what happened that time in college.

And everything is spiraling down down down... I had so much to do yesterday and I only did ONE THING at 12 o'clock midnight.

1. I had to call this guy I'm buying a keyboard from today to let him know we're still on. In the end, I was just so shaky with the phone in my hand, that I sent him a short email.

2. My room. I can't see the floor. I feel so congested but where is the motivation to actually organize my clutter to the sides? My clothing is few only my fresh bed is safe and I stay here now. This room is my life. It's the physical showing of my life with posters on the walls of mad girls, the 1920s, Judy Garland, the Lady of Shalott, art, girls kissing, another girl kissing a girl she undoubtedly murdered... My floor is scattered clothing, stuffed animals, shoes, books, my diaries, dental damns that I have because my sex ed teacher jokingly told me I'd need them, a trophy from choir that means nothing to me, fabreeze for when I get too lazy to vacuum, boxes of memories, a garbage pail... god, I feel like a 2010 version of Anne Sexton right now. What was the poem's name... the Room of my Life or something? Hah! Here it is. http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/annesexton/634

3. My Asylum Letters. I had it so perfectly in my mind, all the things I would say to everyone. What brought me to the decision of finally writing them was that I received a letter in the mail from a wonderful friend telling me she read my blog and that it was going to be okay and that I had to fight and how this is a gift because my life is an adventure and in a way, I am meant for greatness. But as I was looking for my pretty pink victorian heart stationary that I had purchased YEARS ago, I tore apart my room. I couldn't find it. Then it hit me: The letter had said to do as EA advised and swallow swallow swallow, but to come back and haunt the mother fuckers if I actually drowned. Here's the thing though - I HAD been swallowing. I've been swallowing for YEARS and YEARS and now, NOW I am drowning. I don't know if I can swallow anymore.

4. I had to write back to my therapist about my diagnosis sheet. I didn't get the chance because I had been in MD for the day a few days ago, but for some reason, I didn't have the strength to write back yesterday. It's funny, because I realized something when reading his email that EA had said in the Asylum: "We are constantly told not to define our lives by our mental disorders." But that's just the thing, how can I NOT define my life by this? The ups, the downs, the rising and falling I live with this inside me everyday. I go to sleep terrified with how I will wake up and sometimes, I wake up like this. Prone to panic attacks - I know I'm going to swing soon ALLLLL the way up and a few minutes later, fall furrrrrther down that I am now. That is what happened last time. And that is when I picked up my roomate's old, unwashed knife before curling up on my bed in sheer agony...

I'm always scared to talk to people about this. Even in real life. When people speak to Kiska, they see energetic, controlling, extreme, confident - everything I've ever wanted to be. But then there's Sarah. Somehow, I've split into two people. I never planned for this. Sarah is realistic on the side of cynical. Sarah lays in bed up to days trying to fall back to sleep. Sarah hates that she feels this way because there are so many more people in the world under worse circumstances than she is and what right does SHE have to suffer? Like she needs to simply follow her mother's advice and just 'get over' herself. She wishes it were that easy.

Right now, I am Sarah. I once referred to 'Sarah' as my Slave Name when giving someone my address. I suppose I mean it more than it being the name that people who tried so long to suppress me gave me, I mean it as it's the name I think of myself in when I'm actually chained down to a mattress.

No one knows how to handle me when I get like this and I don't think I'd ever ask them to. Only the voices ever could. When I was young, Emily was there to make me laugh when my mom was being mean, the music was always there to serenade me to sleep and now finally, the Mistress of Nightmares is finally there because what I truly need right now is a lover... dear god. If THAT doesn't make me feel insane...

But I have to remember that insanity doesn't exist and it's just an excuse people used when they were too lazy to get to the root of the 'aflicted's' problem(s). Chemistry, dear Watson, chemistry.

A few nights ago when I was laying in bed, I couldn't sleep. When I was a new teenager, I used to fall asleep pretending someone was holding me from behind. Then I dated my second girl friend and I stopped at age 18. It took a while. But I suppose I needed to be dumped on my head for a 'wake up' call, if you'll excuse the pun. I guess it's because I can't stomach the thought of ever dating again. I dated one girl after Valerie, and she was nice, but I'm just too traumatized. I'm sure I could have made it work if I wanted to. She was the first person to ever treat me right.

But then, of course, there's the disease. She couldn't handle my downphases, nor did she WANT to handle my downphases, and I really can't blame her. God, what are people? Are we shopped for by other people and then returned for refund when they find out that we are damaged on the INSIDE and they could not see the scars when we were being purchased? Either way, I'm a spoiled item. I'm a broken doll, I'm a car who lost its axles. I'd like to thank the manufacturers.

But you know, it's because of this that I would never want to date anyone. Why would I want to force this on someone who can't handle it? And honestly, why would I want the responsibility of a lover when I feel this licking as my throat everyday? Yes - I want to be loved. But I don't want the complications and the lust. I don't like sex, I just want to be held.

So, thank you Mistress of Nightmares. You fit all my qualifications - you have a smooth voice, you're tender, you're smart and you can't rape me. Hell, I'd let you blow nightmares into my mind every night as long as you're there each time I fall asleep.

3 comments:

  1. dear sarah/ kiska
    ok ... just one thing...
    someone might want to take on ur pain.. someone might be able to love you enough to deal with ur pain and help you through..

    someone might be out there.. and if u just want to be held.. someone out there might want the same thing..

    sometimes i dont leave my bed for days.. and sometimes the world collapses..

    but someone out there is like u.. and wants what u want... and aches like u ache. and suffers as you do...
    find solace in that... misery loves company..
    but we all want to get better
    xoxoxoxo

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  2. You, I adore.

    Thank you. <3 You don't know how much that means to me. This is the second time you've saved me from my mind in under 24 hours.

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  3. well thats why im adding u to msn.. cause im here.. n i <3 u

    ReplyDelete