Thursday, November 20, 2008

Lose Yourself: Diaries Of A Multiple

I live in a reality that is all my own- fragmented, hazy, half forgotten. Puzzle pieces of a life that don't quite fit; faces with no names, or names without faces. Half the world seems like a semi-conscious nightmare mirage, images and lies born out of desperation for some escape. And then there are moments of technicolor ultra-real clarity; colors too bright for eyes to bear, darknesses absolute and unforgiving.

There are pieces of my life I sometimes think I've dreamed up, memories so distant and faded they can't possibly be real. Sometimes, I'm the only one who knows about them. Sometimes, people insist things happened that have somehow escaped my memory forever. I live every day in perpetual wonder- is this real? Am I dreaming? Is this a memory? Have I lost myself again? The questions are all I have for certain. I don't even have myself. Who am I today? What's my name? Where am I from? Do the words of others hurt me today, or could I care less? What am I afraid of? Will I recognize my own friends and family? Will I make it through the day? Will I even want to?

I woke up today and knew how to play chess. I was good... I don't remember ever playing chess before. And then at dinner, I was afraid to speak- surrounded by friends I've known for years, and I was struck silent by a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Instead, I picked up a crayon and drew out a scene from my favorite poem- I haven't drawn like that since I was a child. Sometimes I love tea; other times, it makes me ill. Sometimes I drink whiskey; other times, I can't handle it. Some days, I'll work at the ice cream counter with a grin on my face; others, I'll hide in a corner and scrub the floor till it shines, petrified that someone will ask me where the restroom is.

I have not been myself lately; not the girl I'd become familiar and content with, the girl who remembered, who didn't wake up wondering how she got to wherever it was she'd ended up, who actually had control of everything she said and did. She didn't drink to kill the pain, she didn't starve herself to feel beautiful, she didn't fuck anything with a pulse, she didn't cut just to see herself bleed... The girl I was wanted to live. She had plans for the future. She left her room without a pang of fear, worked hard for what she wanted, and enjoyed the world around her... She never faded away and became someone else to escape.

I woke up singing "This Old Man" in a nursing home tonight. It felt like a nightmare... Hazy fractions of the day came back to me, hitting me hard. Where had I been? What had I done? I collapsed into a chair, trying to catch my breath. A new day. A new start... I vowed to remember the rest of the night. I will not lose myself again.


in-som-ni-a: (noun) inability to obtain sufficient sleep, esp. when chronic; difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.

this is me the last few weeks.
dunno why.
dunno what to do about it.
someone sing me a lullaby, please?