Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Chasing the Tale

i am not alone
i am not alone
i am not alone.

i cast a thread
& there you are,
all of us woven.

Everything is intersections: I've been ill, I had a bad pain week, my depression feels like a hungry pit. It's winter. It's a warm day but the white light hurts my eyes.

It's an ouroboros.

The snake eating its tail. 
The writer chasing her tale.

{Curious cure: Neurontin makes me type the wrong words. I'll write hear for here or stare blankly at white space waiting for the simplest of words to finally manifest. I feel like it strips two digits of IQ points. It's a weird hell for an arrogant grammar bitch of a writer.} 

But I left you there, me chasing my tale. Don't have one. Nothing for a blog. It's just so repetitive. That's another depression harbinger: boredom. The knife in the back of that is that it makes it nearly impossible to make myself do anything about it. To chase the tale. No, need to make a tale.

There are Things. Things that could/should be listed and marked as done. There are probably a thousand. It feels like there must be a thousand Things. Worse than the Things, are the Whispers. The constant, muttering self-talk that horrifies me to hear in my head or out loud. 

Can I be the person who just thought that?

i'm going to die.
i'm impossibly useless.
life is painful. 
i am such an idiot.
i'm crazy.
this is going to kill me.

I catch myself, and I talk the fuck back to myself. In this case, I'm sure that's the healthier option. It's correcting the course. Navigating. The waters are cold and dark but I am still steering, so that's something.

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