my meme of a life

The Young and the Disorderly

I'm writing this laying in my bed, curled from a pain that I can't differentiate between nausea or hunger pains. So I eat some raisins, they're small and convenient till I figure out what I am dealing with.

"One at a time. Sip the water. Wait a few seconds." this mantra of words lingers close to my ears. Some people associate this kind of inner voice as Ana, which is understandable and sort of catchy. But for me there are two voices, both young ones- there's Alice, a girl who knows how to get you to listen. And Aka- a young and intellectual little boy with probably more problems then he has facts.

Sometimes I think of Alice as the root, she's what I would be like if I didn't use such a coping mechanism. Maybe she is the actual root, who knows, I don't linger on that. Aka is someone who learnt the world through the media, who holds memories that probably link to why he's obsessed with self image. Again, who knows, I can tell they're not liking this whole 'diary' thing anyway.

I'm eating one, sipping some and repeating as I type. I can feel the grit of the raisin, and I can taste the dirt that often resonates with non-food related grit. Tasting foods as dirt/dirty has become a problem for me lately, for which I've begun to listen to the youngins tips so I don't have to taste dirt again.

A message pops up. From a girl I adore, she's asking me to go to the doctor. I don't know who told her the extent of what is happening right now. After hours of internal interrogation to try and figure out why eating has become dirty, a message about trying to explain something that is gradually becoming a myriad of jargon. It's just not what I need right now.

A useless Facebook notification. The sound of next doors radio. The sound of my stomach.

There is someone in the mess of my head that is complaining. He has been in control more and more lately, more then I have been. He used to only appear when there was an opportunity to intoxicate the body. Now I'm waiting for a dad joke to slip out.

He is mad, they are pesky, I am tired.

And so that ends this first... Whatever you want to call it.