Sunday, October 12, 2008

Haven't gone jogging yet. I got dressed. How does one dress to jog? Are there rules? I both love and hate my clothes.

I've noticed in the last several days, that my room feels more and more like a cell, rather than a sanctuary. Even the art is deceptive. It's beautiful. A beautiful distraction from my prison. But if my room is a prison, then who is keeping me here. When I began this decoration, my illness was keeping me here, and with the pills and most of my health returning to a state I never dreamt possible, my room started to feel small and oppresive, just as it once felt like my saftey net from the humiliation of my life outside these 4 walls. But now, feeling like I might be forced to remain here again, against my will, as opposed to retreating here...it feels like a prison.

I think it's my own thoughts that are sometimes my worst enemy. I get lost in my head and don't know how to get back out. I should be outside, running, enjoying and yet I'm still here because I got a little lost getting dressed and then remembered a point that I'd forgotten. My room is a cell. How can I make it my room again?

I just started crying again. I've cried 3 times in the last 24 hours. Once with Mark. Once leaving Mollie that message. Once now sitting at the keyboard. The tears are intense, but fleeting; they're already drying though I may never forget them. I think my memory, which I cherish, is something that I am coming to loathe as well.

"Memories were meant to fade; they're designed that way for a reason."

What the fuck is wrong with me?

   posted by Bald Jason at 01:41 PM
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