poetry iv: thot confessions

xxii. medicine (a mess of thoughts)

medicine. 

a paragraph, a rambling. a mess of thoughts. 

november 14, 2017.

10:47 pm.

i remember, every time i close my eyes and i'm listening to this song. i remember, opening my eyes - staring at the ceiling of an empty cluttered room... Thinking, what the hell am I doing? The blue of  the sheets, the cat hairs flying everywhere. Empty gallons of water everywhere, old notebooks and drawings scattered everywhere. Talenti sorbetto, grapes, Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos, Flaming Hot Ruffles, Hot Cheetos, my laptop, a pen, and an old composition notebook or two - these things that normally surrounded me in disarray on the floor. My mind was tired from being wired the nights before. But I loved it. That was the downfall... No one really knew about it. I hardly knew about it... How dangerous. Then we were talking about it the other day... How we had no business doing what we had been doing. I lied to say that I was agreeing, I mean... In all truth: it opened up the world to me. I stopped merely writing everything down, but actually speaking it. I discovered myself thanks to it... Sitting outside of Dunn Bros, sitting in my parents' apartment and running out to the deck for quick smokes, sitting in my car and driving 70 down the highway to a place we had no business being, all the while doing something we had no business doing. We really had no business doing what we were doing; but I can't get it through my head. It won't happen again, I know, I know. I'm mourning. Because my feelings about it have not changed. That's all. It's this song that's got me feeling and thinking about self-medication... It's whispering my name in the lyrics: you've got a warm heart, you've got a beautiful brain, but it's disintegrating. It's got me thinking of when I first began to feel lost beyond anything I had felt before. Irreparable changes had me frightened, had my body and mind unsure of how to defend themselves. Everyone said that I had been handling it surprisingly well. I must have been one hell of an actress to get people thing that. I was a damn mess the whole way through. Why do you think I spent so much time around people? At work, with friends, at school... Because those were the times I could convince even myself that I had it together. I had fucked up my circadian rhythm so badly that I would spend entire nights and days awake at a time binge watching shows like 13 Reasons Why or writing or just laying there and thinking, thinking, thinking (much like how I am now): What the hell am I doing? I could think nothing more, my thoughts had tired even of themselves. I began to write a whole novel about the happenings of senior year, not that it was that crazy exciting... But because I needed something to help me... To get me to piece it all together. How the hell I had ended up being who I was and the way I was. I needed to know, I still wish I knew. Damnit, damnit.