09 June 2022

The ninth day of June.

 

There is no shift in the emotional landscape of the house or my mind. Eyes, head, and limbs. All sore, sore and sore. From crying and writhing. I reached yet another lower point today while digging this etching ground of soul smeared with tallow and grease from all the inner butchery in the past few days. Every day I break a bit more and drop down a bit further. And, I look around. To find I have nothing to hold onto, no one to lean on to. I am unable to talk because I feel unworthy of words in the society of capable. I am unable to swallow food from a table that has no contribution from my skills and labor. I am unable to take space in my household without the feeling of contrition.

 

I haven't spoken since the evening before yesterday. But, my mind has a mouth of its own which has been screaming ceaselessly. Even with no spoken words, the thoughts are deafening and my head is blurred. This inexorable array of colliding emotions and crashing relationships. I do not know what I need anymore. I do not what will stop this cluster foxtrot of my omnishambles. I do not know what will change this one-way never-ending descending staircase of life.

 

And, while I hit the nail and tumble down these stairs and my head was almost there to hit rock bottom, I came across this post somewhere on the internet:

 

"Not everyone gets a happy ending. Suffering does not automatically mean it will get better in the future. Sometimes it will just get worse until you die. You can very well be that unlucky person."

 

I often think it will get better. I will shed off all the toxicity, and run away to a more sanguine place maybe. Find better people to surround me with. I will stabilize my emotion. Grab control over my life. And, share these tears with my peers like a tumultuous intellectual journey of mine over a cup of tea. But, the thing is... The stark reality is that no one seeks to be around someone who is so eaten up and gutted by their myriad of woe. No one chooses to be alongside someone who has denied the extended hands of joy. Hence, until I can reassemble these fragments into at least a significant corporeal, I'm doomed to float through existence, looking for hanging fruits for survival and finally perish by submersion.

- Oizys.

08 June 2022

Eight-day of June and it is horrible.

Yesterday was dreadful. There was another fight and I completely collapsed, emotionally and mentally. And, in some ways, physically too from all the crying and screaming. I am quailing at the thought of another year under this roof and if I don't get a job after that, I might be stuck here. I won't be able to survive any more of this. Constant derision and disturbances have shaken me to the core. That is why zero prospects of work leads have driven me crazy and that is what I have been crying here about in my previous entries. I am unable to function like a normal or reasonable human being. I am unable to create thoughts. No imagination. It seems as if my subconsciousness has desensitized. I have lost the sense of taste for any kind of desire or want. I do not crave anything. Passion is sitting dead on a chair, strangulated by constant headaches and bitterness.

I cried like an infant animal, legs stuck somewhere in a dark ditch. Scratching my arms to pieces. Trying to get out of something. I often stare at the mirror when I cry. I stare at the helplessness in my eyes. The impotence of my body to fight for me. Slipping on my tears into this horrendous existential crisis, I get trapped by my dearth of everything. I have nothing yet I feel constrained to live further like a punishment for being born. I found myself begging. To whom? I don't know. Just, pure shameless begging to be extricated from the jaws of a pathetic life.

Today has been nothing but an extension of yesterday's agony. Consuming every single bone of my body. Making me sick of my humanness. Contriving me into feeling all the grim and grisly points of life. It is nauseating to even exist in this flesh. I just keep hoping some egress to break open. Then, I can leave this mortal coil behind to wind up on its own.

I am unable to swallow food, and I can only remember a few words of poetry.

"We lose June. We lose July. In
August we look in mirrors and
want to die."
- Kim Addonizio, from "The Women", Wild Nights: New and Selected Poems.

Today's mood: ...

- Oizys.