My head hurts
Another headache and another night without easy sleep, this is becoming annoying. Really.
I can't get Dartmouth out of my head. It's this nagging repeating series of short clips all reeling through my head. And it hurts like my body-brain-heart-soul is all bruised up and I keep poking at it. Then it hurts like sharp cuts, long and deep, red and bloody, lending themselves to scar tissue and twinging in the right-wrong weather.
I remember, when things first really started going wrong, in the beginning, this sensation in my chest that would come with the whazzing sensations. It was like someone was pressing on my chest, sitting on the upper half of it and, well, the emotional response to the sensation was like they were laughing at my inability to stand up. It was a sense of ultimate defeat; depression personified. After awhile, things changed a lot, and the sensation faded out. I still whazzed out regularly, but I never felt that chest-ache like oxygen depletion that made me want to start hyper-ventilating. It's scary, now, that it's back.
And I can't get Dartmouth out of my head.
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
It won't GET OUT
And I feel weak and shaky
Hopeless and defeated once again
My my own goddamn brain
Out to get me
Out to get me
Out to get me.
Sometimes I lay in bed at night and hope for something like schizophrenia or multiple personalities because at least then I would get to spend time out of contact with the real world. So far all I've got is self-hatred leading to binging, and unhealthy fantasies of how best to kill my father. I don't know where I'd get a gun for it, so I'm at a bit of a loss there. Oh, I also have a bad habit of taking sleeping pills rather than continuing to deal with repeating thoughts that aren't useful and keep cutting me up inside. Like right now.
I can't get Dartmouth out of my head.
When I tell my mother I'm wired, she doesn't understand and I'm too scared to elaborate.
At 2 in the morning, there isn't really anything to do but go to bed and cry yourself to sleep. I'm getting tired of it.
I can't get Dartmouth out of my head. It's this nagging repeating series of short clips all reeling through my head. And it hurts like my body-brain-heart-soul is all bruised up and I keep poking at it. Then it hurts like sharp cuts, long and deep, red and bloody, lending themselves to scar tissue and twinging in the right-wrong weather.
I remember, when things first really started going wrong, in the beginning, this sensation in my chest that would come with the whazzing sensations. It was like someone was pressing on my chest, sitting on the upper half of it and, well, the emotional response to the sensation was like they were laughing at my inability to stand up. It was a sense of ultimate defeat; depression personified. After awhile, things changed a lot, and the sensation faded out. I still whazzed out regularly, but I never felt that chest-ache like oxygen depletion that made me want to start hyper-ventilating. It's scary, now, that it's back.
And I can't get Dartmouth out of my head.
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
I can't get it out
It won't GET OUT
And I feel weak and shaky
Hopeless and defeated once again
My my own goddamn brain
Out to get me
Out to get me
Out to get me.
Sometimes I lay in bed at night and hope for something like schizophrenia or multiple personalities because at least then I would get to spend time out of contact with the real world. So far all I've got is self-hatred leading to binging, and unhealthy fantasies of how best to kill my father. I don't know where I'd get a gun for it, so I'm at a bit of a loss there. Oh, I also have a bad habit of taking sleeping pills rather than continuing to deal with repeating thoughts that aren't useful and keep cutting me up inside. Like right now.
I can't get Dartmouth out of my head.
When I tell my mother I'm wired, she doesn't understand and I'm too scared to elaborate.
At 2 in the morning, there isn't really anything to do but go to bed and cry yourself to sleep. I'm getting tired of it.