It’s a bitter sweet smile that touches my lips upon hearing he would like more of my time. A reward for the me that has been on top form for those past few days. “I know we won’t get this opportunity often, I want to make the most of it,” he says. It’s odd, almost becoming jealous of myself. Does he prefer the other me, to this me? Christ, I know that I do. What a bore I become when my mood switches. It was heaven though, those few days.
I speak of smiles reaching the eyes a lot, of laughter finding a home there too. When you constantly find yourself smiling with no real cause, only from being told to, it’s a physical feeling. A grimace more than anything is the usual sensation. “I can’t smile” I say, knowing only that I can, I just shy from it. I feel my face distort in such an ugly manner when I am of this mind.
Yet those few days, when I could dance in front of the camera. I could sway my body or push my face up to the lens and make ridiculous faces. Make him laugh. Make him smile. See me as sexy. See me as funny. I don’t care, I’m letting you see me without me forcing anything and that is all that matters. I’m no prisoner today.
This is to you.
This is to that girl.
I know that you’re in there and I know that the other is coming to the fore.
Do not be afraid.
You are not your own prisoner. There is strength in you. When leaving a room, let alone the house, is frightening because you fear how you might react, how you might treat people. You fear the dizziness, the sounds are too loud, the people are talking but their faces are blurring, you are forgetting everything they are saying. Everything is too fast, too loud… do what you want the world to do. Pause.
Try to breathe.
You were here so recently I can still taste your words and you should find courage knowing that it scares her. Scares me.
It’s like a death. Witnessing your own death over and over. A phoenix rising only to turn to ashes again too soon. You don’t need to be arrogant in how you see yourself, it isn’t about self-love. It really isn’t. It’s about being alive. You are not the banshee, you are the phoenix. Remember this. Tell yourself this when you are hurting, especially when you are hurting another. This is not me. This is not me.
Or is it me?
It’s no surprise you’re fascinated with the idea of duality.
You can keep yourself alive if you hold on to memories of when you were who you know you really are. You are not the vile, angry, horrible, lonely person you will become now. You are not that person. That person came into existence years ago and never left – that is the illness, that is not you. What you will come to see in the mirror is not what is really there. You are lying to yourself. You are fighting people and screaming at people to stop lying, to admit that you are ugly, that you have whichever flaw you want to choose today, because your brain is fixating on it. The liar resides inside your head, not in theirs. Forget all the names of illnesses that have been attached to you, in the end it is everything and it is nothing, and it’s a merging of names that really just mean you are sick.
If you hear laughter. Laugh right back. Do what you always have and find the light in the dark, shine it on that masked self and make it answer to all it has done. Who better to hold you accountable for your wrong doings than yourself?
The other girl is watching everything you are about to do and say and she is here to tell you…
Well she is here to tell you to fuck off.
Ha, like that will work.
It felt good though.
Didn’t like that, did you?
Post this because you’re afraid to because it doesn’t make any sense and it doesn’t do what you wanted it to. What did you want it to do anyway?
I am more than what I am about to become.
I didn’t post it.
I’m writing this part, this bit after, yep that bit right there, some days later. I think I wrote this on Monday. Since then things have taken the turn that I expected them to, although, must be said, not quite so awfully in its consistency.
It’s so odd though, feeling yourself changing. The way you interpret things, how you interact with people. To love someone one minute and the next feel complete hatred, coupled with confusion and distress because logic leapt out the window. It’s difficult for those around me for these reasons, sometimes I wonder if more so. I can’t expect others to know how to deal with something that I don’t even know what to do with.
Here’s where I delete a bunch because I think I need to just write a proper post about it to get it off my chest.
And then I continue, as noted below. Arbie Krae, dontpetthefanganhoardens.com.orsomething, 15th march 2018 – accessed both 12:47am and 22:47pm because time is its own master and it says I exist in more than one place, lady!
Honestly, it isn’t as streamline as I’ve made it sound. I don’t switch from happy to sad, quite frankly I spend most of my time in close to lunatic mode where I latch on to something in my brain and I just lose it. That’s the only way I can really describe it. I feel like I should start a dear diary, that actually explains how a day can go. I know in the past I had wanted to talk about self-harm but I don’t think I ever got to that. I’m sure it will be off-putting to read but I feel like I have some things to say about that state of mind. I’ll have to check my Christmas posts to see if I said anything but I have a feeling that in the end I didn’t. I’m not doing that right now so if anyone made it this far and is concerned, I’m sorry and thank you, but it’s okay! None of that at the minute! Maybe that’s why it would be easier to talk about.
Right, I actually have a splitting headache and a ferret to check on.
I hope you are well,
This post is quite negative so in the hopes of reaching out and spreading some positivity: fruit salad with cold custard is amazing. Really, seriously, amazing. Damn, I want more. Should I?