Crazy

You're right. You are, in fact, crazy. Whatever testable quantifiers there are for such a term, you fit in them somewhere, feeling somewhere between too much and too little empathy. I know that you could pretend to be mostly normal until suddenly disappearing or killing yourself one day. I accept that as much as I'm capable of accepting such a thing, but I want you to know how much I hate the thought of you being gone, or even being normal.

Before we passed out, I told you that I care about the part of you that hurts as much as the part of you that gives powerful speeches... that the revolution can go fuck itself and I still love you. I meant those things, but there's a part of me that hopes you don't remember I said them.

This is so strange, I've been dating the same person for very nearly 5 months, in fact Valentines day is our 5 month marker.... We spent all weekend together and it was awesome. He's really the only person that I want to be with right now too.... It's crazy because he makes me want him like only one other person ever has, but it's different. The sensation I get when he gently strokes my sides is so different, or when he takes my shirt off... well in and of itself, the fact I let him take off my shirt, and that i leave it off is weird. I'm not usually so comfortable with myself. Mostly because I feel I'm very unattractive. I do, however, have wonderful breasts. So maybe that counts for something.

When we wake up in the morning, he tells me I'm beautiful and I believe him because of the way he says it and the way he looks at me. I love him. He loves me. I don't think I've ever had these emotions for a person before. It's so crazy. I feel like I don't deserve him. I feel like he's wonderful and amazing. He tells me how awesome I am so frequently, but I always feel like I'm a crazy person because I talk and talk and I talk about the weirdest things. But he loves me anyway. he's really passive and I'm really outspoken. I love him. He loves me. We talk through our problems, we figure things out. We have amazing communication compared to most of my previous relationships, and it seems the same with him. He has slowly started to be more blunt with me about what he wants, how he feels, what he's thinking. He doesn't beat around the bush anymore. I like that. It makes me feel like we're getting closer and I'm okay with that for once.

I feel like a crazy person right now. My stomach is twitching, my chest is tight, My skin's crawling from withdrawal from the methadone (it's especially bad since I said 'fuck-a this' and quit with eight days to go. Hey, I'm not paying twelve fifty we really dinnae have a day for 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 milligrams. No way. I simply can't. It's been seven days since I quit. Yesterday was the worst. My shrink, psychiatrist, is more worried about starving the junkie in me than helping the patient. I don't have enough Ativan. I'm taking more than I'm supposed to, still not what my regular dose should be, and I'm flippin' because I'm gonna run out early, and he may not intend to give me anymore anyway. Fucking ass. Anti-depressants do not do enough for people with major bad life ruining anxiety. I don't give a shit if he's the head of the psychiatric clinic. He. is. wrong. And I'm paying the price. And I don't know what to do, no idea I'm trapped I'm fucked i'm always fucked it's just the way my life is i'm supposed to be miserable fuck I don't want to cry.

I've gotten myself into a nice, balanced state. I've traveled around the world, handling myself admirably in a variety of difficult and unfamiliar situations. I am at home everywhere and very rarely encounter stress, and never find myself suffering, regardless of pain and discomfort. It feels wrong. It feels wrong to have figured everything out and conquered myself. It feels like I've lost something in snuffing out that instability that always used to inspire me and make life rich and passionate, whether I was manic and moving mountains with my grand projects or obsessing over my own death. I suppose it's only over the past few months that I've really felt strikingly grounded and in control of myself. Doubt remains that whatever's wrong with me is gone for good. But I don't think that there was ever anything... wrong, per se. I just had unusual desires. I wanted to let my mind go. I wanted the voices that would viciously tear into me to keep me from being happy. I feel guilty when I'm happy and content, and I feel happy and content when I'm in a sort of hell. It's the only sort of emotional territory that I don't feel like I'm trespassing onto. Hell's my home. It's where I belong. I can extract myself from it easily and set up a shop in other psychological worlds, but I feel more like a tourist than a native when I do. So now I'm pondering over how to bring myself back to the border territories of my sanity. There's power yet untapped in those worlds, and right now I feel like I can afford the risks and explore them. I just can't shake this recurring suspicion that there's something important that sanity is keeping me from. If I have enough mastery over myself to go back to figure out what and not lose myself entirely, I have an obligation to.