so much water...

(unedited)

I know statistically that the body is 98% water, but sometimes I wonder if the leak in my being will ever be sealed up? My eyes and nose are showing signs of a slow and constant stream of H2O, and it seems as if it will never cease. The cardboard Puffs Boxes outnumber all the junk mail and store flyers that used to create an avalanche of printed matter in my recycling container. Grief replaces paper spam. How could it ever have gotten this bad?

It's not only the weeping, it's the sneezing. My allergies have hit me so hard that E can't tell if I'm blowing my nose because I'm crying or am having a hay fever attack. Sometimes they run into each other - the "mucus letting" out of my system. But oh so much water.

must remember to take in as much as I let out.




It's either the Zantac or the fact that my brain is overloading which has led me to beleive that I am losing my mind again. If I'm not spending the night achoooing in bunches of 4's, the mind is being pulled apart by imploding thoughts of death and any kind of worst case scenario you could ever imagine (and even then some I never thought were imaginable). It's been more than two weeks that I have not slept more than 2 hours straight a night - at night that is. When I don't sleep at night, I wake up, take a handful of ativan (but have now transfered to some ancient Chinese formula called Anmien Pien), lie down and try to follow my breath. By the time I've mastered counting past 10, the night has been replaced by the 7am buzz of E's alarm, the shower, the cats screaming to be fed. And by that time, my body and mind are so wrung out from the previous night's mental gymnastics that the 2nd wave is sleep is heavy and unsatisfying - my chest becomes an iron lung encased in bubble wrap. The world falls away while my eyes adjust the day into a self-imposed fake night.



Today I woke up at 3:oopm. The alarm came on at 8:30 - I had to go to my electrolady because my whiskers were getting longer than the cat's. After 30 minutes of current running into my chin and upper lip, I crawled back into bed, under my duvet and drifted.


This second round of sleep can be dreamless, which has its advantages, but at the same time, the waking up from this sleep seems unfinished. I always need more, or just another few seconds to clean up the dopey residue and punch into real life again; but it never works. And being in the state that I'm in - this cantankerous mind prickly heat, life becomes a struggle and fight. Like boxing with one glove against an octopus - each blow numbs the subsequent punch, but compounds and elongates the mental agony over a longer period of time.



I weep all the time now.
I think about death constantly.
The difference between then and now is that instead of once feeling as if life was too heavy, too painful to continue (I will post my video of my breakdown story soon...) I now feel as if life were too short, too scary and too complicated to muddle through. A relentless snowstorm. A white out - the kind I remember as a child when driving up north to ski country. Mom would have to put the car in neutral and hope to find a passing car to follow. Their headlights the only thing between us and getting lost into a pelting veil of white stones.

Yes, I can hear everybody who means well saying: "life is what you make it, life is too short, live every day to the fullest" but when every day seems to become shorter, sliding by inconspicuously, all I can do is panic and desperately try to plan tomorrow without knowing where my head will be.

How very ironic that my little film about my breakdown - the little oeuvre that won so many awards, poised me on the doorstep of so many opportunities (and so many that I was too chicken to accept) has resurfaced again. I wonder in what kind of shape I will be in when I see on the big screen next month.

It's all to real - it's all so fresh.
That fear, the dread, the and madness never really go away, and just like a passing acquaintance, they just become a little less important in your life, until you meet them again.


I can cbt this shit up the wazoo, and have been too, but when the mind is poisoned and turned against itself, only a cataclysmic event will settle the chaos - for the better or for worse.


How odd and ironic that I've developed a fear of my camera. Have not touched it in months.

"try to channel your moods into your pictures" e said the other night.

"I'm afraid of what kind of demons will be let lose. Once they are set free, they rarely go back quietly, if at all..."

so much water, so much fear and pain in this little body of mine.
It's squeezing the life out of me.