anxiety

alcohol
legal drugs
illegal drugs
spirituality
philosophy
distraction
creativity
nutrition
^^all venues I've focused my energy into in an attempt to keep my anxiety at bay, and to date they've all failed.

I got drunk, it didn't stop. I took the prescription pills, it didn't stop. I meditated to some relaxing music, it didn't stop. I take a nap, it doesn't stop. It probably won't ever stop, and that's why I used to try to hurt myself. Because I'd rather it stop. Seven years full circle, I'm the same person, haven't grown at all and certainly haven't learned. But I'm so exhausted from trying to learn, and my body doesn't heal or rest at the rate it used to. I used up my youth, lashing out at mirrors of myself. Seven years later, throat still all closed full of tears and no more options-- not unhealthy options, nor healthy ones, nor neutral ones. All options exhausted and still, a knot in my chest that could choke a whale, as though it never left.

I've never felt so empty, it's like all the pulp fell away and left this shell on auto pilot. I have no mental energy to understand other people, or to even be interested in trying. I'm upset because it seems like I should be upset to be this hollow. Even people touching me doesn't bring me around. I don't feel hand shakes or hugs. It's just like the stories. Who am I? How does my story end?

Uninterested, disengaged, apathetic, tired, and losing all the time. Tomorrow I'll wake up with less than I had today, and the day after, and so on until I die or the sun swallows the earth. Some how it seems like I'll always be wandering around confused, even after I die. But I know the only thing more grotesque than all this is submission to all this, which is why I'm here. Writing. Semi-awake, semi-conscious, but I don't feel a thing. Except the vague notion that I should fight, whatever it is. Yes, I could keep walking now, if only I were walking.

I have no indicator for my sanity. Everyone else is on vacation mentally, doing their thing, whatever that is. Everyone is an island, and I don't want to visit. They can come here, but no one wants to. Wobbling back and forth between frustration and boredom.

I can't communicate anymore. Recently I've been opening my mouth and nothing comes out. That has never happened to me before, anyone who knows me can tell you I don't ever shut up, it's part of my charm, or my biggest flaw, but it defines me. And it makes me angrier than I can say that without that stream of words that never ceases, people lose interest in me. I don't have anything to say anymore, and because that's what everyone is used to, everyone is mad at me now. As though it has anything to do with anyone else.

I smoke so much I can't breathe, so I guess I'll just go on this way, not breathing and not talking. Making everyone upset in the process, as though it has anything to do with anything except my own internal sinking into apathy. And they're the ones that are mad. Everyone around me is more lost and stupid than I am. & I'm pissed because quite frankly this is what the weed was supposed to be for.