Disheartening, This Numbness
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All the things she said / all the things you said / running through my head...
...this is not enough...
Dancing, trancing, stone cold sober and aching from head to toe, trying not to tremble as my stomach ties itself in tighter and tighter knots. My pulse is racing. My cheeks are flushed. I feel like I've got a fever but I know I don't; it's just another brief betrayal from a body that's already announced we are at War and doesn't intend to lose, apparently.
I hate this kind of night, when I can feel each beat of my heart because it jabs another dagger into my side, clenches another ice-cold fist into my chest, pushes my stomach into my throat, sends my blood racing so fast I can barely believe it's staying in my veins.
...all the things you said / this is not enough / all the things you said...
Mildly, mildly depressed. Infinitely more apathetic. Hard to do anything else, be anything else, when 99% of my attention is focused entirely on NOT puking my guts out again. Thinking of old conversations... which, realistically, is where the depression is coming from. Nights like this, when pleasure hurts and nothing really seems to cut the pain, at least mental anguish is a distraction from the immediate physical misery.
Yes, I have painkillers. LOTS of painkillers. 136, to be precise. *faint smile* 136 reasons not to wake up in the morning, and I won't be taking any of them, because DAMMIT, my stomach won't let me. So I just keep hurting, and keep feeling queasy, and keep wanting to slam my head in a door until I go unconscious just to MAKE IT STOP.
...such a perfect surprise...
...it's just you and me / nobody else / so we can be free...
...all the things she said / all the things you said / running through my head...
Sorry, I've got this song and a few others sitting on repeat, because while they aren't exactly cheerful they DO ease the ache inside a bit, and right now every little bit counts. Oh, hey, if you're thinking about telling me to cheer up right now? FUCK OFF. Because you know, or should know, that being perky when I hurt this much isn't something I am willing to manage, that I will NOT be cheering up until I can keep food down or ease the pain, and that the last thing I want is to be damn near ordered to do the impossible, thanks.
Sorry, knee-jerk reaction to a message someone sent.
...will I ever be free / have I crossed the line...
I want a nice big bowl of frozen blueberries, some diluted, cold seven-up, a quiet comfortable room to curl up in unthreatened, the knowledge that someone is watching over me. This is one of those times when I really am not capable of watching out for anyone else, not well anyway... and when I would damn near kill to be able to curl up and feel truly safe.
Surprising how difficult that is to feel when my stomach's in knots, I feel like I'm starving, there are evil gnomes with icepicks in my left side, and my head is throbbing... the horrid weight on my chest really isn't helping, neither is the fact that despite the rush of blood, my hands are ice cold, nearly no circulation as far as I can tell. They're going numb... huh. Haven't had this happen before.
Feet too, slower though. They're always cold. My hands are going very fast.
This is... strange.
...you and me / what does that mean / always / what does that mean / forever / what does that mean...
"Christiansands" by Tricky. Nifty song.
I think I'm going to wrap this up and see if Cal is willing to drive to QFC - I know they're open all night and I can get blueberries and a small bottle of 7-Up there, hopefully. Anything to make my stomach shut up, at this point. Anything to let me get painkillers down and KEEP them down. They help, my body KNOWS they should be there... but I was an idiot and took the last round AFTER eating a bit of cube steak. Apparently my body does NOT know that red meat is my friend still.
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