april 19
This is a documentation of how the sky turned black and fell like oil into our mouths.
This is a butchered story. It is unreeled in fragments, mismatched information, a smile captured though the photograph is smudged. Though combined reveals a confederacy of ruined lives and identity thieves.
There’s no beginning to this story. It all seems a blur to me, but there is always some storm coming to life inside my head, so it’s all grey, muddled. I know there is something inside me waiting to come out. I don’t know when, but I know it has something to do with writing about this generation, these false revolutions, slow hands and black gums. The horror, the horror. That is something I wish to pursue when I’m better. Though perhaps when I am better, I will not be drawn to the darker corners of existence.. but who’s to know I’ll be getting ‘better’ anytime soon. After reading other peoples stories about living with BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder), I’ve almost concluded that this is unfixable. Of course this is the most common outlook for people suffering from mental illness, or in my case, depression comorbidly existing with a recently diagnosed BPD. This made a lot of sense to me. For years I felt confused and unaware, lost, but I still don’t feel found. The BPD label has perhaps driven me sicker but I feel sicker all the time, every day, even on the days when I’m smiling, and there is no end to a circle. For years I have been writing about falling in love and simultaneously death. It has only occurred to me now, though, that these are two opposite circumstances which fall on either end of the emotional spectrum. This seems fucked up to me, and slightly masochistic? I’ve accepted my life is held between the devils claws, and I will never give up the struggle to release myself from him, to die and deliver myself unto the unknown. I am not religious, though sometimes I find myself believing myself to be truely possessed, that I am seeing demons walking through my house, standing outside my bedroom door. I am pretty damn certain this is a regular occurrence. I’ve learned to ignore them, though, as I have learned to ignore, or ‘numb out’, most of what memory I have left I have on the reel in my mind, throwing them all out with the demons and the sunny days that are punishing.
