I don’t know how to adequately express a desire for a hug that reaches a little deeper than the surface of my skin. It’s all itchy thoughts and vast expanses of time. In group, I seem to constantly lament feeling level now. There is no prize for ‘better’. I get going on melodrama and I miss terminal illness and heartbreak and screaming in the streets. Nothing more cozy than chaos. I fidget a lot in my chair.
Now I’m paying £12 to drink beer with girls who love white wine and vodka based cocktails and are taking time out of law school to travel. I like these people, I really do, but we’re in a basement of a bar chain in Soho and they’re talking about shoes and boyfriends, and god, oh god, it’s all really tedious, but I’m left with a really distinct impression that this is really standard fare. And they laugh when I speak up because, oh, I know, I’m so unusual.
My doctor will ask me what I plan on doing, to stop being bored and I will say Fuck, I don’t know. You tell me, and he’ll ask the other people in the group what they think and they won’t have anything to say.
I really lost years to this, lost years and years that should have been filled up with better stuff and just leave me with a bitter taste and a hazy head. I scramble a little to put together any semblance of meaning outside of nausea and exhaustion. There is no big epiphany- there never was, even after all that- just being able to get out of bed, put clothes on, go out in the world and have no idea what to do with myself.
It’s better, I guess. I guess it’s better. But I fidget in my chair and tap my fingers against the top of coffee tables and need a little, lot of something more. I can’t quite clarify. No prize for better, nothing at all-
I need to pack my suitcase. I need to pack everything else. I need to put it into storage, need to work out the paperwork. I need to pay the water bill. I need to call the council. It’s James’s birthday. I was going to make him a card, but it’ll just end up left on a strip club floor. It was my last day of therapy yesterday and I came home feeling like I’d been trampled by horses. My bus was late and a stranger touched my hair. I have to buy a new USB cord and go into St Martins today. I’m tired and my back hurts. I’ll be back home soon, just a few days now.