Tuesday, April 29, 2008
My hands are weak as if in hunger, as if in withdrawal, but I am not even weaning myself off any of my meds. There is no explanation for my trembling hands. I feel myself slipping away from life as it is real, but I can't help myself from slipping. I don't feel like talking much. Going out for a walk, if even just to the AXS machine to pay my bills, or to the postbox, seems tiring. I am sorry for broken promises of errands to be done.
Anything social seems tiring too. Can I not talk or start conversation threads? I don't even want to make requests or demands or try to repair anything to undo my dysfunctional interactions with others.
I feel edgy. I go to the supermarket, get surrounded by Chinese nationals, and I feel like shouting at all, all of them, to go back to their stinking country. People are tiring even when they are friends, let alone horrible strangers who don't wash themselves daily, while earning money masquerading as foreign students.
I am slipping and stationary. I cannot run to you. Or tell you things. I hurt all over, like an autistic child with ultra-sensitivity to touch, sights, and sounds. I just hurt. Any movement of mine would be movement back, away, from these stimuli.
I do not feel anything. I don't even feel sad. I am just a bundle on the ground, by the path. If I see you again I will cry. If you want to see me you have to pass by me, because I won't go to where you are. I am staying here, even if I want to move, I can no longer. I slip away from everyone.