Day 60

THE WHOLE FUCKING DAY:

Today starts the regimented eating system re: time (8-2-6-2…) and throughout I need to remind myself that starvation doesn’t make me special.  The things that I do for people, the beauty that I can bring into the world and create, those things make me special.  However, for the time being, the blackness is screaming that I am not special other than because of the electricity coursing through my veins when I’m hungry and starving for food, love, affection.  The blackness is taking a beating, but it is trying to take as much of me on its way down.

The blackness taking a hold of my blood vessels, feeling like its claws are in me (sharper than ever), I want to believe that it is because it is being torn off.  I have been getting inexplicably angry over the last two days (and in combination with the inexplicable depression/sadness/blech of the days preceding), where I feel like the blackness takes a hold of the wheel, hits me in the head and I am not watching it turn my words into asshole-ese, but that it is using me while I am stuck in the trunk of the car, unconscious.  I want to believe that this is because the sneaky mother fucker is on its last legs and that we are finally getting a handle of how to kill it.  We are reaching into my soul, the thing that it has been strangling for so many years, grabbing it by the throat and pulling it off.  My detox of the blackness is now = the feelings I’ve been having since Friday, I want to believe that they’re because it is staging its last stand.  I want to believe that we are stripping it off and that we are getting there and that there is light.

I want to believe these things, but I’m scared to do so.  I’m scared to believe that we’ve learned something from the last few days about the blackness, that we believe we understand it a little better, that there is some hope to its death.  I’m scared to believe these things because what if we’re wrong.  What if it is not its dying breath but it reclaiming life, gaining strength, metamorphosizing into something angrier?  What if we are wrong?

I need to not care about the potential of being wrong.  Caring about the potential of being wrong means lacking self-confidence, it means lacking self-esteem, it means lacking self-worth, it means always being on guard, it means never letting my armour off and my walls down, it means never being quiet, it means not finding calm, it means not being at peace.  What type of life is that?  That is the life that I’ve been living = the tense life, the half-life, the blackness’ life, the empty life.  If I die tomorrow, I will have wasted so much time being unappreciative of the beauty around me and I want to be done with the blackness for this reason.  I need to believe in unicorns and penguins and look up.  I need to look up.

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