Gibbering and Gibberish

Mine's getting worse. Less loquacious, less lucid. More skin-crawlingly awful. My head itches, my mind reflects my body more as both collapse in on themselves. I've got a candle, and I've long since learned "only one wick at a time", but christ I seem to be burning a third-even a fourth(!) I didn't know I had. Maybe if I didn't have to look them(you*) in the eye so regular, it wouldn't be so hard.

That's a lie, not even prettily told. That's how bad it's gotten.

I wasn't sure if the vicodin was amping my angst...and I considered that, as I am unhappy in a novel new way today. Not that I'm unprepared to dance w/ my unhappiness. But I decided that it's not the bad that's up, it's the good that's down. I didn't laugh for all of my AM today, and that's terrifying, to tell you the truth. If I can't find it in myself to slough it off through it's (everything's) absurdity...I don't know what I'm going to do. It's awful to have been sobered by something that's left me in every other possible way fucked up.

I feel like my choices are few-pain and discomfort at an intolerable level, or this ugly, dirty, frightening pharmeceutical phugue. And part of me embraces it as a kind of self-destruction I've not faced before, and I can almost see the beauty in it. Almost.






*There's several of you. Try and guess which ones you are.