I am either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, or an existential breakthrough. Either way, something’s gonna break.
Something is very wrong with me today. My mind is in some sort of manic overdrive, the thoughts do not stop coming, drowning me, an incessant white noise. The future, the future. Decisions, choices, possibilities. Bullshit bullshit bullshit. Constant. There is no let up. Everything around me is analysed, extensively considered. Stop, I want it to stop. But this is not uncommon. What is uncommon is that when I really need to think, I cannot think. I sit down to write these final essays, but I can’t. I can’t think. I can’t think. And therefore I cannot write. I can’t stop thinking, but at the same time, I cannot think at all. Needless to say, this is fucking me up.
I can’t think, yet I cannot stop thinking. And so I cannot write. I haven’t written a poem for over a month now. This worries me. Everything worries me. But at the same time, I am relaxed. More relaxed than most: everyone is overly stressed about essays, dissertations and exams. This is bad. I cannot be around these people. The only thing I have ever taken away from years of therapy is that I should always remove myself from stressful situations and avoid people who are stressed: it is too dangerous for me to be around stress, as it is a huuuuge trigger. And so I soup myself up on valium and propranolol, effectively smothering any trace of nerves or anxiety that I feel about my finals.
I am desperate for my finals to be over (on the 17th May), but at the same time I am terrified because that means that my degree is over. Then what am I going to do? Sleep, eat, read, hopefully write. Escape to Cyprus. Return to London for my graduation ceremony. Then, as it stands, either escape to France indefinitely, or take the job that I have been offered as a non-sexual escort. Find somewhere to live. Write during the day, accompany rich men in the evenings. I do not know what I want, but at the same time I know that I am not ready to just jump into full-time employment. The thought of going straight into a 9-5 office job makes me feel sick. I need a break. I need time out. I have a lot of soul searching to do. I have lost my mind. I need to find it. I have a broken heart. I need to mend it. So, I will either escape to France or become an escort: both options will give me what I need which is freedom.
I feel everything all at once. I am tired. But I can’t sleep without zopiclone. It is exhausting being me. Alors, c’est la vie folle.