End of the Fucking World

I don't really feel real anymore. I feel like I'm someone's creation. I lay in bed wondering why I am such a mismatched constellation of bullshit conundrums and contradictions. My thoughts swim away from me. It feels like everything I've ever experienced is fake. It feels like everything I've ever done has all been just a part of my imagination. I feel fake. I am nothing more than a figment of imagination. And that scares me. 

It feels like I am a doll, staring out of the window of a toy shop, aching for someone to take me home. It feels like I've thrown my life away. Forever sitting on a shelf, waiting to be taken somewhere. I've spent an entire existence hoping and dreaming, always drowning in a fear of failure to go as far as I really want to. I don't see a purpose for myself. I've never been able to. As a child, I had dozens of grand plans and ideas, but as I grew older, more of my spirit was crushed out of me. I felt helpless. I felt useless. 

t feels as if I will always be consumed with this gut-wrenching sadness. My body doesn't feel like its mine. It feels awkward and out of place. Flashes of memories, or what I think to be memories dangle in front of my eyes. I want to throw up or close my eyes, maybe both; I'm not too sure on that. I feel the airflow in and out of my lungs. I feel the coolness invigorate me. I don't know why I'm like this. I click my tongue bars and look up at the night sky. I may be 28 years old but I'm desperate to have those feelings of love and safety I should have had as a child.
I don't want to be what I am. This unsettling self-image haunts me and it always has. I'm growing into more of my own now, but at the same time, my anxiety has never been greater. I have so many questions, I have no depth perception. Time marches on around me, leaving me just as intellectually starving and emotionally anorexic as one could be. I act out in the worst ways, crying for the affection I should have had in my early years. My highs have taught me so much, the things I see and feel when I'm stoned are so much more present and focused; I'm able to step in and out of my skin bag. I can watch my life from every possible angle. I'm able to flip through my Rolodex of memories much quicker and most of the anxiety and fear that surround certain memories slips away. I'm able to see and understand aspects of myself that have been closed off for so long. I can honestly say I look at my life now and clearly see all of my failures and short-comings. I've often done what is fun, rather than what is right. And what do I have to show for it? Yes, I have some great memories, but at what cost did they come? I'm pretty much lost and friendless. My existence is filled with people who have used and abandoned me. I feel like almost everything has been a complete waste. My short-lived thrills have left me with unsightly scars that have really affected the way I form any sort of relationship. 

The world is melting away from me, my veins are throbbing and I can taste my pulse in the back of my throat. I feel invigorated, yet completely calm. I am made of sugar and ice. I lay in pooling blood, feeling energy throb around me. I love how it coats everything so wholly, so complete. Through vicious wounds, I'm able to live. I feel that fire inside. Everything burns so much more brightly when I'm high. I'm breathing in candy floss and exhaling bubble gum bubbles. I feel free of everything that plagues me. I'm not Daniel anymore. I'm not a person anymore. I'm a formless existence, dwelling in a white light. I feel the fatigue crawling through my soul, but I'm not ready to sleep just yet. My stomach feels stretched to its limits but I've not really consumed anything. My muscles feel weak and fired. My body says one thing, my mind says another. 

I wake from a deep sleep, confused as to where I am; I don't even know when I am. It feels like I'm in my old childhood home and that it's Christmas morning. I have the urge to look out the window to see if it's a white Christmas. I half expect to see the ground coated in snow and the neighbour's chimneys puffing away. The entire neighbourhood looks like a gingerbread village that's been covered in icing sugar and melted marshmallow. The smell of sugar cookies floats up the stairs and caresses me. All that I've eaten the evenings before race through my head. I am disgusting. I shouldn't be eating. I don't deserve to be eating. I can't be eating any more biscuits and sweets. I know better and I will hate myself even more if I gain any weight. I feel stuck in a body that I don't want. I struggle with myself, fighting my natural drives and my desire to not eat. Throughout the day I can keep my jaws tightly closed as if they were wired together with steel, but when the high hits I become hungry. My hunger is magnified and sometimes I lose control. I think I look and feel disgusting. I've checked the scale and I've not put any weight on, I just feel gross with myself. And eating foods, no craving foods, that will hurt me and cause my stomach to swell isn't really helping. I should know better, I guess I've just reached a new level of self-destruction. 

And after all of this, what have I really learned? I learned that I want to feel alive. I want to be loved. I want my warped sense of reality to be washed away. These breaks are what sustain me. I need to be able to feel something completely abnormal in order to feel normal later.