I enter the house, completely stoned out. I lock the door and head towards my room. The door creaks loudly, and my shoes scrape against the floorboards that seem unmoved. Before crossing the carpet, I take off my shoes to finally rest. I get rid of my jacket and toss it towards the bed, my purse landing next to it. I sit down. My sweatshirt feels hot, though recognizing temperatures is becoming increasingly difficult, so I squeeze out of it. "Who am I?" I ask myself, my exhale becoming heavier. I lean in, grabbing my head and pulling on my hair. I ask everyone for their opinion, but I never ask myself, 'How would I do that?'
Everyone has their own way of dealing with simple problems, so it's probably best to be myself. Ask yourself, how would I do that? Should I say it out loud, or keep it to myself? It's a difficult question, especially when I change personalities like socks. I hear whispers that have no place, and I look around as if something were truly happening around me. As if someone was standing there, watching me from a corner.
I snap back to reality and look out the window. The moon tonight is so beautiful. It's a shame what I see before me is just a street lamp. 'How would you write this? How would you say it?' Is this what I have to ask myself now to be normal?
I look out the window again. I think today was the first time I said to myself: "I'm an adult. I can handle it. I have to, otherwise I won't survive." The problem is, I don't want to survive. I want to be true with myself, not pretend to be someone I'm not. I want everything that flows from my mouth to be fluid, genuine. Unconsidered, and sometimes deliberate. It comes naturally to others, but not to me. I'm learning and imitating. I don't have my own way of peeling potatoes, hehe.
I live in my own world, lost in my thoughts most of the time. I don't say anything, I don't speak, as if I'm afraid of them. I'm not afraid, I just don't know how to start the topic; I react because that's just how I am. Maybe emotional, maybe not. I don't feel emotions in my head. Only thoughts about given situations. Is that it? Or not necessarily? I'm wondering if I should delete it because it might sound stupid. It's exactly that state where I can't tell if something is wrong or not. My body twitches, tics take over everything, one by one. My head, hands, arms, spine, knees, feet, heels. I experience them all one by one. I can't live in the now anymore. I have to look to the future. Grow up.
Maybe it's some kind of algorithm? As a child, you think in the past, a teenager in the present, and an adult has to look to the future for it all to fall into place. Or have I gone crazy? I'm only leaving it because I want it to be raw. Maybe that's what writing is all about? Writing whatever comes to mind, being real, raw, so everyone knows who you really are. Or maybe not? Gosh, it sounds like a farewell.
I look at the clock, and the number jumps from 10:59 to 11:00 with just a glance. It's late, and I have to work tomorrow. If I die, my mother will get 13,000, and that would help her leave this country. Maybe she can move on. Maybe she can survive. I, too, feel compelled to survive, even though I just want to live. To have peace. To be real. Unfortunately, it's hard when I don't really know who I am anymore.
My eyes keep darting, and my vision blurs. I'm completely fucked, I keep repeating. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I have to move. I have to wash up, roll some cigarettes... And only then will I eat. Food always comes last. After all, at work, I look at other people's portions instead of my own, wondering if they took more than me. Did I look stupid? But those are just thoughts, nothing more. Or maybe they are feelings? Thoughts about what's happening around me. If so, I'm honestly disappointed with all these emotions. They were supposed to be something cool. But I don't feel like I feel them. Maybe I'm different. Thoughts about the situation, then the rush in my body that's probably hormones. Dopamine and so on. So it reacts, but my mind doesn't. I'm too slow.
I don't give a damn what's going on. I'm going to roll some cigarettes because I'm going to get pissed off.
-||-
I get in the bathtub; the water is lukewarm. I peel off the band-aid from the wound, and the bubble feels even bigger than I would have in the morning. God. This burn has given me a lot to think about—I should be paying attention to my surroundings, not my own world. It's hard for me to focus on anything else, because every time I do, my thoughts immediately wander off. I should be focusing on the task at hand. But when I do, I focus, I think about what I have to do, I have to have a plan ready in my head. But my algorithm always messes things up.
I feel watched, as if everyone is doing everything on purpose. It's like they're gauging my reactions to things, observing me. I'm doing my assigned job, but I quickly get distracted, and by the time I catch myself, it's too late. I relive all the times this happened, but it's too much to even think about. I have to be normal to be liked. Pay attention to my surroundings, above all. Don't get angry when something doesn't go my way, just stick to the plan. And if something goes wrong, improvise. Is that how it's done?
What should I do?
Tonight for dinner, I'm having a roll with minced meat and pickled zucchini. A wonderful meal, I think, especially since it has so much flavor. I love it when something has flavor, because food seems to have lost it lately.
Everything's fading away before my eyes again, and I wonder if there are any people who would want to read this. Will anyone have the time to devote to what's going on in my life? I don't think that's what adulthood is about. It's not about seeking help from others, but about figuring out how to cope on your own first and asking for help, and if that doesn't work out, having a backup plan ready. What will I do if it doesn't work out? How will I get home if no one picks me up? Right?
