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By Misti Date: 2002 Jul 28 Comment on this Work [[2002.07.28.02.45.4950]] |
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The meds aren't working. I'm in a dangerous place right now. I am at rock bottom and I don't know if I have the strength and will to pull myself up and out. I'm married but I don't feel married. I feel utterly alone and beyond redemption. Tonight I scared myself by reading a book my brother loaned me on the mysteries of New Mexico. I read about Satan and witches and ghosts. I heard noises and wouldn't leave the bedroom until Chris came home from work. I wish the demons inside were outside. Visible. Tangible. I'd beat the shit out of them and be done with it. As it is, I am no match for the sorrow/despair/guilt/shame/absolute terror and doubt. The memories. The losses. The sickening absence of self-esteem and psychic strength. I think I read somewhere once that in ancient times Native Americans who were not well would remove themselves from the tribe, just go off and die in a cave somewhere. I want to remove myself from my life. I know there are many mentally ill people who wind up miles from home with no money or anything. I feel a kinship with the mentally ill homeless people I see. I don't feel like I'm at home in my own skin. I'm burning for exit. I can't stop crying. When I was in Vegas, the city of escape, all I could think about was my uncle Greg and Julie Kate. I saw all these families and I hated them. I had to manage the basic courtesies for Chris's parents and grandmother and sister. I read the MGM guest book that described all the different suites. The most expensive suites are two-story and have their own private elevators and patios and hot tubs. This made me envious and bitter as hell. I've always thought if I was rich all my problems would disappear. I know that isn't true but it seems true. I got angry thinking about Larry Flynt. I'd seen a documentary on Vegas before I left and it showed Larry Flynt losing millions of dollars at the blackjack table. Pornographers will always have more money than poets/writers. We live in a cheap world. The world of the easy fix. Instant orgasm. I wish with everything in me I didn't think about the things I think about and agonize over. I wish I had no ideals or dreams or big questions that will never be answered. I wish I knew how to play tennis. I wish I had a cell phone and at least ten friends and endless parties. I'm sick of spending all these nights alone, desperately trying to fill the hours with writing and reading and watching television or movies. I am out of my head and there's no zip code. |