Soundgarden – Blow Up The Outside World
The acid in my mouth, the acid in my belly acrid and electric reminds me I’m not eating right. And I’m just sitting here in a broken old recliner chair. Like a used lab chair made for me to rot in. The elements crawl onto my body and change any form that I had.
Yesterday what I thought would happen happened today. I wasn’t planning to fight. Why do people have to push me? Should I just be a b!tch my whole life? It was not necessary to call me those things. It was just plain stupid to tell me that I didn’t know what it felt like to be caught with a psychopath planning an escape and nodding my head, listening intently until the moment came up for me to run. You’d think that just because I have a mental illness that I have no clue how this sh!t works. You’d think that I never was sly or clever to plan my own way out of a bad relationship. I don’t want you to cut me a break. I do want you to think about what you’re saying before it comes out of your mouth son. The big guns come out when you pull your trigger.
This chair is warping my back and my @ss. When I get up I feel like I’m 90.
No I’m not jealous that my ex found someone just as psychotic and in denial as he is. More power to them. They’re too old to breed so that’s two off the market.
Am I will I just rot alone? Should I leave this toxic state and find somewhere else to crawl into and die or maybe find a reason to live? I’m so apathetic at this point. No one is worth it. I’m too old to be a worth while role model and I have no inclination to hang out with children anymore. I know enough about myself to recognize that I’m not normal. Warped and buried in my head I can’t get out to enjoy anything that this world has to offer. The entertainment is stale. Beauty is consumable.
I’m stuck inside. I can’t get my groceries. I fear the people. I fear the commercial lights. I fear the weather and the car and the clothes and the weight of my purse on my shoulder which is sloped and uneven and can’t hold it so it doesn’t slip. The food doesn’t even taste good anymore. And the acid only reminds me that nothing’s right.
I’m here again. I want to scream but I know there’s no one who cares why waste what little energy I have?
Dirty underpants. Dirty dishes. Dirty floors cold walls. They do keep me moving. There’s no comfort. I can’t process it. My brain is dulled. The angry music is a small comfort. It’s the friend I need, the friend that shuts up and listens instead of assume they know any f^cking thing about what’s going on in my brain. It reaches into my chest and soothes the potential panic attack. It says nothing. It breathes the pain I live in. It knows where I am without telling me what to do. I just want to remove my eyes and ears all sensory organs. The thoughts block out the brain action I need to get things done. And you telling me what you think I need to do just irritates me and makes me want to punch you in the face.
I’ll stay home today. Go ahead and avoid me son. You’re only doing us both a favor.