Monday, 5 March 2012

I wonder if one can feel so much anger and loathing inside. Not everyone likes it, obviously. It's like having a 12 inch penis - normal woman can't handle it, so you need to find a sexually active gay bottom with a low self-esteem. If I can be honest, no one can fully make peace with it. Especially when Breakdowns commence. One like that happened yesterday.
Walking around the oversized shopping mall, taking care of these irrelevant needs like hunger, and more important ones, like the lack of caffeine in my veins, I was thinking about how I hate all of this. How I'd like for my brain to leak through my eyes, how Id like for someone to finish me off to end my misery, because to do it myself I don't have any balls. Partially it's Adrien's fault. Eleina's too. My parents are the most responsible ones. Of course, I bear the biggest fault, but could I ever admit that?
I haven't even started talking about the first one, when the second Breakdown took place.
Everything started when Eleina told me that she was masturbating in front of a camera with some lumberjack from Australia. There was a bond between me and her, with cracks, unfortunately. We met a few years ago, which resulted in us running through the paved streets of the Old Town with take-away coffee in our hands, like too bohemian artists, waiting for their big career brake. Then I became too negative for her (that was the official version; she grew tired of me), and we haven't seen each other for two or less years.
I loved her, and it was impossible to get her out of my head. She probably felt the same, cuz she didn't accept my offer to never see or speak to one another again. Instead of that we met, and talked like it was the old times, two artists with nothing to hide. It was only harder to run with smoked out lungs.
You see, one of the thing we had in common was that we both thought we'd die alone. It just wasn't possible to think of a person who'd see something positive in us. But when she talked about the Australian lumberjack, I noticed a difference; although we haven't seen each other in many months, she was drooling about him a schoolgirl with her first crush: she said her legs were shaking, and that she felt bad not seeing her new friend for a day. It made me ask myself a question - maybe I could be with Adrien? I know that I don't love him. I know that he wasn't "the one". But I could make myself love him.
Adrien was a horrible human being. More like a creature. A sociopath, the most unfriendliest person I've met, heard or read about. Even worse than Queen, who at least managed to talk on the phone. I admit that he told me he doesn't know how to be a in a friendship or sustain a relationship, but I didn't think it would be that bad.
An unwanted baby. Probably was molested as a kid. Tried to kill himself, unsuccessfully. Was there a disease that he didn't have? Probably Alcheimers, because of young age.
At the age of 19, Adrien had AIDS, schizophrenia, anorexia and bipolar disorder. Compared to him, my grandpa with cancer was like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind. Once, when me and Charlotte, my best friend for live, got drunk at her cousin's apartment, I showed her a picture of Adrien that I stole from his tumblr account. We spent the remaining time (before passing out) kneeling in front of the computer, almost like worshiping some five-armed Indian goddess. Charlie dreamed about living in Manhattan, making art and having threesomes, just the three of us. I felt something similar to butterflies, but in my head, not my stomach. Like I was sedated. I only felt this once in my life, with Luke, the first guy I fell in love. I knew he was an important person in my life, because when I fucked up our non-existent relationship, I started believing that I would never be able to be in a relationship, and that no one will ever look at me.
I left Adrien at least 4 messages. They were all contradicting one another, but the thing I cared the most was his reply - "yeah, I like you too" or "you're disgusting and you should die". The reply was slightly different that I've expected.
The response to my more-than-more messages was squeezed into 2 fat sentences. Conclusion - he doesn't thin about many people as his friends, but I'm one of them.
Not only the second proof that I'll die single and alone triggered the first Breakdown. Sometimes they just happen. Randomly. The daily routine got to me. The "shield" that gives the impression that I'm the coolest, that the Earth spins around me, and that all those people who are lucky to know me need to satisfy my ever need and command, that shield comes off. And I'm not proud at all of what happens next.
At first, a panic attack began, which was a rare thing for me, which I recognized from heavy my heavy breathing. I don't even remember the reason of all this.
Simply said, I feel like such a meaningless, irrelevant retard, needed nor wanted by no one who needs to die because life is too much of a burden. During these Breakdowns I divide into three parts, whom I can't even understand nor support the hypothesis why only three.
I call the first part The Victim. The Victim itself is the Breakdown, probably - this tiny creature who suffers and wants to end it all. The second part, which could go by the name of The Actor, thinks that all of this is just a show, that I'm just acting to get attention or something like that. This "Its a show theory" may come from the reaction of the ones around me - the birthgiver doesn't pay any attention, but of course she doesn't know, but I can just feel her radiating this feeling that I'm just acting. I can't really say that my closest friends care that much. Marco, Sunny, they just look at the scars, listen to my stories and live on. Charlotte, she's sweet, maybe she suffered from something similar way back, but I doubt that she would get up at the middle of the night if I needed her. Strangest thing is, I'd do anything for my friends. She thinks I'm joking when I say I want to go to a mental hospital, that I want to get cured, that I want to be normal. She says that she loves me, and the conversation is over. Eleina is even worse. Her mood is mostly great, unless she hasn't seen her Lumberjack longer than a day, and its almost as if she doesn't want to change her mood because of me.
The third Me is a small voice in my consciousness/subconsciousness, who wants to understand who am I, The Victim or the Actor. He doesnt have much luck though.
In the heat of the Breakdown I reached for the broken decoration from the Christmas tree in the bottom drawer, and slit my left hand a couple of times. Blood began to show. The cuts weren't deep. And strangely enough, I felt so at peace after I did it. Like the panic and anxiousness were taken away in a blink of an eye. It's the second time I'm doing this. The first one was way better. Pain, triumph and adrenalin mixed up in this entity of ecstasy. I finally could inflict pain on myself, an action I was scared of doing before. Pain was also good, it proved that I am living in this nightmare of a world, not in a beautiful dream.

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