i just read my sweet snailandsky and i feel exactly the same. this empty feeling of alone is so used to me now i think of it as another skin, a soft grey that lays over my actual skin, that maybe no one else can see but me. when i look in the mirror i can see it covering my face, i can taste it's hollow-penny-taste on my lips (even when i put on my vanilla lip balm) and it's caught up in the way my eyebrows naturally seem to knit together lately, everything confusing and draining. things are rolling past me swiftly, i am untouched, i am watching, i am feeling nothing. when i talk to people it's as if we are calling from ends of tunnels, and i am so pre-occupied with what's going on in here that i find it hard to concentrate on what they are saying.
but what's going on in here? i feel stagnant and flat. she says "ennui", spiritual boredom. "what shall i do? what shall i do?"
i think that must be what it is. because i have no idea. i read an old entry this morning and it made me realize how dissatisfied i have been with my writing lately, and i think it's because i feel so dead inside.
sometimes, when i am deep down in the well, when i feel like everything is crashing around me and it's twisting me up and feeding me to the lions, that's when i have the most things to say. as if the burning energy of being alone and freezing cold or slammed against the wall and completely shattered was somehow made useful and good by being able to write about it or paint about it.
but this dead water face down drowned girl pose that i have been feeling for the last few days, it's like walking through the thickest molasses. i wish i could cry, and sometimes i feel like i am on the edge of it, but something doesn't let me give myself over to that. and i don't know why. i used to cry all the time when i was a teenager, i would lay on my bed and wrap my arms around myself tight, wrap my fingers around my throat, and across my eyes, twisting tears out of myself in great choking gasps until i was so exhausted i let the world fold in on itself around me and i fell asleep. i used to wake up with the pillow wet from tears, my lips swollen from sleep spent biting. but now, it's like i have to be on the verge of literally smashing my head against the wall to even get my eyes to feel full. it's a terrible thing to suspect you are lost inside yourself, somewhere deep down that you're not even sure of. that you've somehow switched yourself off.
somehow i don't think it was a conscious choice, but it seems like it happened so long ago, i just can't be sure.
ech. sometimes, i just can't take myself anymore.
on the way to work this morning i put on lipstick and since i didn't have a tissue within reach, i used the inside of left my wrist to blot.
now there is a red stained kiss on my wrist, and even though i have tried to wash it off, you can still see its outline like a bruise. i cover it with my right hand, i hide it so no one else can see.
