pain, reloaded

I want to write myself in to oblivion. I want to write until I no longer exist. I cannot write to make money or prove a point anymore, I can only create words that are welling in me, shouting to be put on paper. I can only write to soothe my crazed mind, a mind that fills with anger and sadness and hopelessness. I only want to not exist, that is why I write. I want to write away the pain. I want to write.

Time stabs at me as it ticks by, it stabs at my meaninglessness. I want to not feel pain, but time pains me at my lack of achievement and lack of ability. I want to not live anymore but it is too tiring to try again, too expensive, too painful to re-live the pain. I just want to go away into the hardboiled wonderland of dreams and sleep to never wake up. I don't even want to feel calm, I just want to no longer feel, or be.

Doctor will probably tell me I need to re-increase one of the mood stabilisers he just brought down the dose for me. This pharmaceutical yo-yo brings me back to my sense of normal, which is really shit indeed; my normal is shit, my normal is pain, my normal is all the anger of my twenty-eight years, my normal is sadness tears and hopelessness.

I just want the clock to hit eight. Hit eight, hit eight. Then I can pretend to be the party hostess I have to be and want to be, and drink myself to oblivion. I just want to not feel like me anymore. Me hurts like hell.