Sunlight Makes Me Queasy
Previous - this entry written on May 18, 2003 at 5:28 pm - Next


Winamp's open again. The sun is just out of sight above the level of the window overhang, gleaming strands of light caught within dust and dirt and pine needles working their way into the room. The light is on in here too - I seem to be craving light right now, the sense that even if I'm not here, not around, that the universe is somewhere and somehow continuing.

Yeah, hi. I'm due to start my period soon. I'm cutting back on my antidepressants. I'm low on caffeine, low on painkillers, listening to "Lose Yourself" and finding my own emotions tangled up in the lyrics... but it's not just the lyrics. I don't know if I've ever put this in data before but I'll post it now regardless: it's not just the lyrics. A lot of it is the rhythm and beat and the pitch of each note, the rasp or purr or yowl of each voice. A lot of it is the pulse that would be chasing me into myself whether the lyrics were being sung or not. For example, right now (yes, I'm writing while listening so the music changes fairly quickly, at least it seems so textwise) it's "The Kiss" from the Last of the Mohicans soundtrack - yes, track it down, it's worth hearing - there's no words. No voices. Just the slow swell of music, at first just one instrument but eventually it feels as if the entire world has been poured into the sounds you hear.

It hurts.

Right there is another thing-worth-mentioning. I fairly often say a song hurts, or aches, or stings. Referring to a discussion I was having a while back, trying to explain why I only hurt the ones I'm interested in, the ones I love... it's because the sort of hurt I'm thinking of is the sort that spirals into my ears just now, the one that doesn't leave marks exactly, but that you find yourself remembering days or weeks later, shivering, holding close to the person who gave you such a wound... stunned, astonished, grateful that someone who can do that, can cause that... that they love you, that it's better, that it stops. That you could make it stop. That you don't... and so they breathe in your sorrow and lick away your tears and hold you as long as it takes for the trembling to fade into slow fires, arousal and love...

*shakes her head* I'm writing this in notepad - for no reason that I can tell, the connection just fried. It's 5:24 pm... I can't help wondering if Ryan's even going to make it home by 6:30. And... yes. Insecure.

He doesn't hurt me any more, other than the accidental physical pain of a too-hard bite or an unintended pinch.

And I'll never in a million years be able to explain what I mean by that, not to anyone... no, not true.

Kadin would understand.

Torian would understand.

Caleb would understand.

*shakes her head again, almost angrily, impatient with herself*

Screw this, yet again. There's a reason they give me the damned pills. I've gone since getting up (around 10:00 am) without anything but a couple advil.

There's a lighter. Alcohol. Medication. Knives, razors, a train track nearby...

...and I will simply be sitting here, waiting for the 'net to come back online or to get some rest.

I'm not leaving. Not EVER.

*shrugs*

I don't really have anything else to say at the moment.

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