i know i’m stupid because when i take my ~issues~ and behaviors and imagine them in other people i am just like
wow stop that’s stupid why would you do that to yourself why would you have that opinion of yourself thAT IS RIDICulous behavior
but i still do it to myself and i still have like zeRO motivation to sort my shit out it’s like in other people i can see the problem but in me i’m just like
oh well it’s only me who even cares
8pm. Shower. You pull your shirt off your back like it’s a rope you’re flesh got caught in.
You want your clothes metal,
or linear. They’re not.
Fold them in a pile. They look stupid, leave them,
Keep moving. Don’t think about it, don’t let it drive you insane.
Two minutes, then rotate ninety degrees.
Count the seconds you scrub every spot and move on.
Count the lines in your hands, count the bones in your arm.
Count the tiles and the times you bashed your feet against them when you screamed into the hot water.
The tiles don’t remember, they don’t hold it against you, they don’t forgive you and they don’t ask you to do better.
The tiles don’t give a fuck. Good. Clean. Rotate.
There’s a clock on the wall, there’s a clock on every wall.
And you, you’re a car in a car wash, you’re a shirt in the machine. It’s nothing, there’s nothing more to it. Rotate.
You count the tiles on the first wall and you multiply them with the second wall. Divide them by the third wall. Start again. Rotate. Start from the bottom. Start from the left. Count diagonally. Divide by the bottles of shampoo. Start again. Start again.
Get out. Dry yourself.
There’s a system to this, there’s a pattern. Stay within it.
The machine is working and it keeps working as long as you keep putting in the same formula.
You operate smoothly.
The cogs are clean and they’re turning, clicking clicking clicking and they don’t let you get stuck and they don’t let you stop
and you’re pulling your socks on like they’re surgeon’s gloves, you’re lining them up,
you’re checking your watch, you’re checking the clock on the wall,
you’re checking your watch and the clock on the wall to make sure they match up.
They match up.
8.13pm. Two minutes is medicine time, you’ve got your pill bottles on the counter and they’re saying Waiting.
Plastic doesn’t do anything but wait.
It just stands there and it doesn’t look at you but it doesn’t not look at you. You can’t hear me you just hear Waiting and you say ‘Well, good. Same.’
Line your white pills on your white counter and check your watch. Thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds is okay, thirty seconds is a pause.
It’s not enough to get lost in. Not like ten minutes, which is a panic station,
which is a bomb without a back up plan.
You look in the mirror. It doesn’t look at you but it doesn’t not look at you.
You take the pills.
Scrub your nails clean.
Cut a thick edge in between your knuckles and scrub your bones clean.
You’ve got a scalpel, a pair of tweezers and a packet of cotton wool balls and you’re wondering if you could remove one of the bigger veins in your hand without too much blood.
You’re wondering how attached it is and how the machine would run without it.
Wouldn’t that be interesting to see?
There’s soot in your eyes again.
You keep scrubbing them and they’re filling up with soot and there’s ash on your hands and ash in your mouth and all you can see is death and all you can taste is death and it’s stale and thick and it’s getting on the sink-
The wires tripped. Factory malfunction. Back to zero.
8.45pm - is it? I don’t know, you would know, I don’t know. I don’t even know what day it is. But this one isn’t about me.
Keep a good soundtrack on. Something electronic. Something fast like the previews they play in the cinema.
The trailers are always better than the film, where you actually have to live it, where you have to suffer it.
Keep this like a trailer, stop dicing your carrots half way through - this is a jump cut, someone’s just been shot, fasten the pace, don’t let the plot catch up to you.
And the girl with the eyelashes is trying to throw her heart in to your neat little machine
and it’s getting all stuck in the cogs.
Everything is getting pulverised and covered in blood but it’s her fault
for being such an absolute dolt with her organs. That’s what you say.
You try to tell her Don’t worry I’m all organs too, really but not quick enough, not until she’s out the door, tapping her heels, ready for a better mutilation.
Clean the dishes. Clean something.
You write down the time because time makes sense and it always makes the same sense.
It is the only lynch pin you have.
You keep everything to fifteen minute intervals and you don’t feel a thing.
You’re a machine but you keep trying to turn everything off.
Every day is a rebirth. Every day the person you are begins to die and continues to die until you become another version of the person you were originally.
So you bleach him out of you and start again.
From the ashes comes the fire and from the fire comes the ashes again.
They are all versions of you and none of them are you.
You keep it up. The machine keeps clicking. It’s never going to work. You know that. You are something new and it lies like a baseline, keeping you breathing, keeping you moving.
You live in 24 hour life spans.
Fight off the opportunity to feel.
Fight off the opportunity to die.
Your bone is snapping against the veneer. You wear her like an X across your wrist. We are cracked in the same places.
It isn’t about either of us, really.
idk i just hate normal milk iT’S SO GROSS!!!!
i tried soy milk and i didn’t really like that the flavour is nOt for me
so i tried almond milk and i just like it??? idk i really like the taste of it i don’t really drink it alone but i always use it in chia pudding and oats and stuff and it’s also way healthier than cow’s milk
also no i don’t eat meat!!!!
omg i asked my mum to get me some almond milk from the shop before because i ran out
and she didn’t?????
truly a crisis
i haven’t had proper friends or like even done social things for so long it’s got to the point that when someone asks me to go out for drinks or something i just automatically freak out so much that i just ignore them and sit there like
this is a scary situation i really don’t want to say no but i also don’t want to have to pretend i know how to act in a social setting
i feel like such a loser and i know that i have to start doing things otherwise before i know it i’ll be 30 and still have no life and still have panic attacks at the thought of a casual social occurrence but like idk i just feel so uncomfortable and awkward