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So Much Song
Gemma-Jon
Tina-Steffi
Wes-Heather
Gabe-Lauren
Clark-Lisa
Agnes-Bill
Chris-Evie
Seems like everywhere I look there stands a happy couple; kissing, hugging, talking, cuddling, touching, laughing, smiling. It's really beginning to piss me off.
Because it makes me miss Kirk. It makes me want to be able to show him off to everyone. Makes me want to still be able to message him and get emails from him telling me about his day. Makes me feel lonely. Makes me want to fell all the happy couples like an acre of rainforest. Want to let them know how unfair it is to lose someone you care about. Make sure none of them take each other for granted.
My missing has morphed into rage, into this festering destructive force that's just dying to get out. I want to throw things, to hurt people, to show them what misery really looks like.
Since last years relapse, and more so since Kirk's death, I've felt embraced by this strange metaphysical darkness. It's not necessarily sad or depressive though it can be both or neither. It's just dark. And it's a darkness I'm familiar with. Let's face it, I'm now well acquainted with the road map of depression, and I'm learning the rules of the grieveing process pretty damn quick. Both are part of the darker recesses of human existence. And I'm an expert on them.
How fuct is that? To be an expert on emotional suffering? It's not something I would ever have chosen to be. I'm much comfier with being an expert on writing or literature, or sociology and race relations. But now all this experience with suffering seems to be a dominating part of my personality. I swear I feel like the fucking handmaiden of death!
All I ever think about is death (those who are dead, and those I would like to kill), revenge, sex (and my astounding lack of it), solitude, and unconsciousness (AKA Sleep, another thing I haven't been getting much of.) All are the provinces of mythological death Goddesses like Kali, Morrigan, Hecate, Isis. I feel...not like death incarnate (Leilah Wendell already has that base covered,) but more like the collective social thought forms connected to death incarnate. Ya follow me? All week I've been wishing I had more black clothes because I totally feel like just draping myself in black and scaring people. ARGH!
In the Roman Fever paper I wrote last year for Monica, I discussed how Cafagna equates mental illness to living death in his poems. The depressed are reviled and rejected from society and therefore do not exist in social reality. I feel a lot like that these days. Not so much rejected as invisible. I'm a ghost just floating around campus. No one sees me or notices me. I'm just this dark destructive force meandering around, waiting for the right moment.
Tina-Steffi
Wes-Heather
Gabe-Lauren
Clark-Lisa
Agnes-Bill
Chris-Evie
Seems like everywhere I look there stands a happy couple; kissing, hugging, talking, cuddling, touching, laughing, smiling. It's really beginning to piss me off.
Because it makes me miss Kirk. It makes me want to be able to show him off to everyone. Makes me want to still be able to message him and get emails from him telling me about his day. Makes me feel lonely. Makes me want to fell all the happy couples like an acre of rainforest. Want to let them know how unfair it is to lose someone you care about. Make sure none of them take each other for granted.
My missing has morphed into rage, into this festering destructive force that's just dying to get out. I want to throw things, to hurt people, to show them what misery really looks like.
Since last years relapse, and more so since Kirk's death, I've felt embraced by this strange metaphysical darkness. It's not necessarily sad or depressive though it can be both or neither. It's just dark. And it's a darkness I'm familiar with. Let's face it, I'm now well acquainted with the road map of depression, and I'm learning the rules of the grieveing process pretty damn quick. Both are part of the darker recesses of human existence. And I'm an expert on them.
How fuct is that? To be an expert on emotional suffering? It's not something I would ever have chosen to be. I'm much comfier with being an expert on writing or literature, or sociology and race relations. But now all this experience with suffering seems to be a dominating part of my personality. I swear I feel like the fucking handmaiden of death!
All I ever think about is death (those who are dead, and those I would like to kill), revenge, sex (and my astounding lack of it), solitude, and unconsciousness (AKA Sleep, another thing I haven't been getting much of.) All are the provinces of mythological death Goddesses like Kali, Morrigan, Hecate, Isis. I feel...not like death incarnate (Leilah Wendell already has that base covered,) but more like the collective social thought forms connected to death incarnate. Ya follow me? All week I've been wishing I had more black clothes because I totally feel like just draping myself in black and scaring people. ARGH!
In the Roman Fever paper I wrote last year for Monica, I discussed how Cafagna equates mental illness to living death in his poems. The depressed are reviled and rejected from society and therefore do not exist in social reality. I feel a lot like that these days. Not so much rejected as invisible. I'm a ghost just floating around campus. No one sees me or notices me. I'm just this dark destructive force meandering around, waiting for the right moment.