Survival is an Art

FUCK!!!

I can't escape! I can't get out! I am trapped, like a prisoner in a cell. I awake and get up to see a new day, take a leak and crawl back into bed. I don't want to leave. I don't want to go out. I don't want to do this, I don't want to do that. I watch the walls peel. I am afraid of leaving for some reason. Don't ask me to put a finger on it, or to tell you why I am this way...I AM JUST THIS WAY!!!

Shit. I roll over and listen to music. The day melts, and I stay in the bed, sheets over my head, eyes closed, living in sheer fear. I have a quart of vodka in the refrigerator. It's calling out to me but I'm ignoring it. I'm staying in the bed, drifting in and out of sleep until sleep comes no more, and the seconds of the day beat on me like a slugger with a baseball bat. I am depressed, sad, miserable. What the fuck is this? I should be running about, spouting poetry like some lovesick fool. But no. I'd rather just stay home.

I wanted to go out today, head to the Metro- politan Hospital and get my medical records. I know what I suffered now. It was a panic attack. These motherfuckers are insidious. They mimic heart attacks, and in the beginning, they even look like them, but they aren't. They are the greatest fear you will EVER FACE. When your heart fails you, you can't breathe. If you want to know the single most scariest thing you will ever experience, its suffocation. When you can't breathe, you fight. You fight for your life. And when you can not touch or fight against what is suffocating you, you feel fear and the more the fear, the more the suffocation.

I've had panic attacks before. I used to take drugs to fight against them. I DON'T WANT TO BE ON THOSE DRUGS ANYMORE. Therefore, my friend, the 'panic attack' is back. I am going to be beset by them until I can overcome them. I wanted to go and get my records, but the fear of the attack is still fresh in my mind, forcing me to fold when I want to go out, when I want to do things. The FEAR of the FEAR is now what is gripping me. I have to fight this...and I will WIN this. This is a battle of the mind, nothing more. FEAR is the mindkiller.

I want to get out, so I go, put on clothes and head downstairs. It is late. I can only move under cover of darkness. I cannot go out during the day. What kind of shit is this? I don't know, but I can't, and I do. I go to the nearest SUBWAY restaurant and get a hero, and bring it up to eat. I am happy, I got out. I did not let the fear win. This is not going to happen. I watch television until I go to sleep.

On Friday, I have to go to WECARE. No....I can't. I can't get out. I can't even go to see Dr. A. I can't get the fuck out of the room. The panic attack fresh in my mind. I KNOW I can leave when the sun goes down. Less people. But not during the day. I am a vampire. Like yeah. I watch more television, blowing off WECARE and Dr. A. I can't get out. I just can't. I wait patiently until the sun goes down and then I go out....for a BLIMPIE sandwich this time, and then scurry back home. I break open the vodka, I sit and eat and drink. I am suddenly happy. I am suddenly glad to be alive.

Some shit, right? I can't put a finger on this shit. I really can't. I don't know what the fuck is going on in my head. I just know that it's WRONG, and this shit has to end. I call my mother, and I do nothing but depress her, then I call my brother and I can't get him on the phone. So, I sit and drink, and with each sip, I feel better and stronger. Wow.

What can I say about that? What can I say? The sun rises and falls and another day passes, and I am not doing anything but dying. I need a therapist, and Dr. Energy is too busy to deal with me. I think of the doctors at ICD, and if it wasn't because they were overmedicating me, I would go back, but they fucked me up. Fucked me up royally with their drugs. That's not good.

I'm trying to do this on my own. Trying to fight this fine fight. I fought my way out of the streets, now I need to fight my way out of my head. My head, which is a fun house. So much good shit in there, hidden by so much fear. I need to rethink my world. To succeed. To win. This is my future. I am not a quitter, but a fighter. I just have to see the enemy. When the enemy is in your own head, well, that makes it just that much harder.

I sit in the growing gloom of the night, listening to 80's music and feeling no pain from the alcohol in my blood- stream. Tomorrow is the SHOUT OUT. Tomorrow, I MUST get out. I must. I dance in my room, I am in bliss. I am not sad now, I am not upset. I am not lost, nor afraid. I am free to be me. There may be a chemical imbalance in my head, this could be the case, then again, I could be understandably miserable. I am in a bad way. I'm the boogeyman. I am where NO ONE wants to be. Marginalized, abandoned, alone. Coming up is Valentines day.

Fuck it.

Survival is an ART. Remember that. Only the creative make it to see another day. If you give up you die. Here, in my world, that is a very real statement. There are no more rungs down on the ladder that I find myself. This is an all or nothing game. I win or lose. No second place.

Watch me win.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/02/survival-is-art.html
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