Schizophrenia

I am afraid to say anything because I am not sure where I am.  It's scary as hell.  Scary as all get out.  Who is listening?  Please, do not take me away.  Bring everyone because you are going to need them to fill the body bags before I get to you.

I am terrified.  It is horrible.  Things got very far out of line.  Very far out of acceptable lines.  And I let them go and part of me is screaming and shouting you deserve this.  YOU DESERVE THIS.  YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN IT COMING.  How could I?  Everything sounded and seemed better and better and more and more and not in the way bipolar can take you down at the backs of your knees like a length of pipe or baseball bat and before I knew it I was running with my head in front of my feet and telling them we can do it and we kept tripping and we've got it and tripping and we've got it and then the best to hope for could have been a solid and well orchestrated face plant.  Instead we kept chasing our own head with our feet and doubling over to seem more normal and more joyous and more grateful and happier than what was actual and we chased our dragon of normalcy without acknowledging our unique chemistry and fears and rage and bottled and sold and bought and told our way to a somersault.

Have you ever broken your nose and deserved it?  I thought I could pull it off.  It was too good to be true.  I am in the middle of a hard reboot and I have someone racing up my ass asking if I am okay.  I am not.  I am horrible.  Every other thought through my brain is fucking killing someone or myself.  I know you believe you are helping by asking me if I would like to play games or go out or eat food.  No.  I would like to sit and process what the hell is going through our minds.  Because I don't want to play games with you.  I want to drive to your house and buddy up for a while and then stab you to death.  I want to cut the skin all around the circumference of your face and try to tear it off in one piece and then dangle it in front of a mirror.  I don't want to be cheered up.  I want to shoot my father dead between the eyes with a single .762 round and then burn his house to the ground.  I want to grab my brother's right hand and stick it in garbage disposal and flick the switch and see if he shits himself.  I want to laugh until I can't help it and let a fart loose.  I want to dislocate someone's elbow again.  I want to say hello with a headbutt so dead on we both see stars while exchanging pleasantries.   I want to sink my teeth into something.  Not that I cannot feel, but if you're going to break my nose, break my damn nose.

I've been over extended.  We have been.  In ways we could not imagine.  The tax is heavy and still you have to smile with it.  I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS.  Work problems.  Choking on the vomit of a successful swallow.  Could be a decent way to go.

I am in an unfamiliar place where a physical pain tolerance means nothing against a mental pain tolerance.

The best way I can describe it is being 30 seconds out of sync from everything that is happening around you and that is when you are already clued in from days of study and suspicion against yourself that actually turned out to be true.  Once you've finally caught up with your goings and comings and your committee and friends and other friends and put everything together... the closest you can get it is a true time barrier.  Inside the moment you cannot see anything.  Thirty seconds out you can see the overlap.  One second out from thirty you are back in the moment and present.

I know I've burned through a lot of time.  In terms of erasure.  I'm not sure which one of us is doing the erasing lately.  This is very dangerous.  Very unacceptable.  By lately, we mean in the last months.  It's no good.  We are not a head case.  We're sliding that way.  I'm not sure how to correct it.

The last thing I want is to become a danger to folks I know.  I think it may have something to do with pressure and trying to fit forms you cannot fit.  Entirely possible.  It is good to draw distinct lines between never cross and sometimes cross.  Without never cross there is no you.  And without sometimes cross there is no me.  And that is good.