30/11/16

I feel the blood thumping up to my fingertips. I feel darkness closing in around me, and in an instant go from the laughing, fun Hannah that everyone loves – that Toni loves – to dark and sad. Empty Hannah. She wants nothing to do with herself but close her eyes and collapse upon herself like a black hole. A black un-whole.  A crushed star.

I feel all of the happiness escape through my fingertips with each thump of blood and wish it would come back. Hold on to the warmth, don’t let it slip… too late. It’s become increasingly hard to deal with it and myself.

            I turn away from everything. Food doesn’t taste good and everything makes me cry. At least the tears can escape—lucky bastards. It actually makes me angry because if I knew anyone else who was like this I would probably pick on them inside my head, mentioning how weak they must be to myself. I am stuck. It used to be monthly. Then weekly appearances weren’t that strange, and now each day is tainted by this fucking depression. The sinking feeling that every single fucking thing I DO IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. That I will never be good enough and that the Hannah that sweeps in and blocks out all the light is sweeping out the Hannah that people like-- that I like. It comes in so quickly and it’s like a weightless weight pressing down on top of me. Pressure doesn’t really describe it, but it comes pretty close.

            It’s a terrifying reality that this bullshit “disease” will leave me lonely with nothing left but it’s own presence one day.

            I wonder about taking medication but that is also like tremendously frightening. I’ve never taken anything but birth control unless it was for recreational purposes. What if I start taking pills and they kill the crazy, spontaneous, electric Hannah that everyone loves? What if all that’s left is a numb blank face with the same features and empty eyes? What if I gain weight? But what if… just what if they make me happy?

            I sit and think so much these days about what it is that’s causing this. It’s not Spain. It’s not Toni, it’s me. Or is it? Could it be the absence of closure from what happened before? I don’t miss New York. I miss moments and memories but I believe they call that nostalgia. I miss my family—normal, like anyone else, but no more than, say, when I lived in New York. I don’t feel excited as much, and I have crushing anxiety. ANXIETY. It’s like those Russian wooden dolls. Every little iota of every thought or action has 100 layers underneath it of shit I feel I need to analyze. This is delicious—how many calories does it have? Should I go run tomorrow? Did I do the laundry? Fuck I forgot to prepare my class. I’ll have a beer to relax, FUCK I have no money. I haven’t paid my credit cards in six months… but should I go running tomorrow? You can see where this is going. I need some help. I need to stop being so hard on myself. I know this better than anyone. But when? How? Why? Maybe we’re all fucked up… am I crazy? Are we all crazy? This is really frightening…

What if I fall apart?