Yesterday I got a massage, but by the end of the massage instead of feeling good I felt low. I’ve been numb ever since. I just don’t feel like myself and I am not enjoying myself or getting things done, and I’m having dark thoughts. I need to pull myself out of this before it becomes a full blown depression. I’m not in pain, so that’s good. I’m just numb.
I always have a hard time dealing with Craig’s underways and I think it is just catching up to me. It is a lot of loneliness and change. I don’t do well with either one.
I could feel a lot worse, but I am definitely sliding downward. Everything is taking way more effort than it should.
In the hopes of making sure today isn’t a total loss, I’m making a list of things I need and want to do and I’m going to see if I can get to all of them. So far it is 3:30 and I’ve already taken a shower, made lunch, and done a load of dishes. Not an amazingly productive day, but could be a lot worse.
So here’s my list
-take a hot bath
-play some educational games with Angelica
-get the toys picked up
-put away the laundry in the dryer
Hopefully this list will give me the accountability to actually do some of these things.
licks me frenetically.
My mind is the Monday after a holiday weekend
that meandered into a new month,
and the paperwork in me chafes and squeaks.
Behind my eyes I am filing.
I have begun 178 projects.
177 are exactly what I have been needing, what I have been waiting for.
1 is even better.
my judgment ache,
and all I can hear is agitated paper.
Scrape scrape scrape.
Mood like a leaf,
a falling leaf beautiful and dead.
I appreciate normalcy because it’s gone.
Quickly my neurons shudder,
power plants going cold.
Please someone find a rake,
pull me together.
Light a candle so I can see my way out of this darkness.
Religion and faith
are best friends,
The law is a locket with His picture and
my neighbor’s picture inside.
I build cathedrals from beads and bubble gum.
I am a girl safe
in her Father’s arms,
dressed in silk and velvet,
diamonds at my throat.
He covers my war-torn wrists
Beneath sinister stars
I am attacked by sunset
stealing my hope at gunpoint.
God I am terrified of the back of my eyelids
Mania is sweeping
My front door step,
is dancing a jig on my lawn.
My blood is caffeine.
All my colors are hotter than yours.
They burn me,
and turn me on
like a sick freak lover with a cigarette
Serrated sight stabs
the letters of my name.
My face is hooked to a vacuum
sucking my breath.
Why are the worst battles noiseless?