Friday/Cryday (again)

Ugh, today my mood has been oscillating so wildly – it’s as if my brain and my heart have been told by a really reliable source that there’s no tomorrow and so I must feel every single emotion possible before the world implodes.

Adriana Cahova (1979-) Butterflies In Rene Magritte's Stomach, 2011

Butterflies In Rene Magritte’s Stomach, 2011 by Adriana Cahova (1979-)

One minute I’m engrossed in a book,
the next I’m shouting Arctic Monkeys lyrics in my best Yorkshire accent,
then I’m hiding in a car park down the road, scared that my mother will catch me smoking,
then I’m getting dressed to go out to the park,
then I’m flirting with the builders across the street,
then I’m snapping this elastic band against my wrist
(new self-harm technique, less damaging as cutting but equally satisfying),
then I’m painting my toenails,
then I’m crying and screaming and shaking and angry
and having a panic attack because I am so scared about my housing situation
and I am terrified of my meeting with the council housing officers on Thursday
and I hate the changes that have been made to my mental health care team
and I have to wait over a month for my next appointment with anyone –
OH MY GOD for fuck’s sake,
all the anxiety just hit me at once and I’m so scared,
but then I’m fine again
and finished that book
and have started a new one
and am pleased because I have a really cold can of Coke Zero
but as I go to close the window I look at the beautiful summer twilight
and think how wonderful being sober is and how lucky I am
but then I realise I have stopped looking at the sky
and have in fact been staring at the pub for the past twenty minutes,
clocking everyone who goes in and out,
gasping for a white wine spritzer.

FUCK. Time out. I need time out. Please, everything stop, nobody say a word, no one move – just give me a second to breathe. Calm and breathe and drink some water maybe and snap the elastic band and just close your eyes and breathe easy. Shoulders down. Back straight. Feet on the ground. You will not fly tonight, girl, not tonight.

large

“Be wicked, be brave, be drunk, be reckless, be dissolute, be despotic, be an anarchist… be anything you like, but for pity’s sake be it to the top of your bent.
Live — live fully, live passionately, live disastrously.”

– Vita Sackville-West.

I want to be brave but I want to be sober – but this is terribly hard when I believe the two to be mutually exclusive, like one of those factors can exist but only at the expense of the other.

Fuck it. I am forcing them to co-exist whether they like it or not.

Brave & sober = good life.

#655321

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