Friday, 22 October 2010

recycled air...

today, i've no energy.

i'm ill.

i caught Muffin's ill and now i kinda want to die.

to battle this illness, i've decided to tidy. i've planned a day around severe steam-cleaning of the carpets, hand-mopping the floors in the kitchen and bathroom and re-washing all the dishes.

all of this will happen in between the cooking of a massive ham stew and baking cornbread and cookies.

clearly, i'm not doing all of this only to attempt to thwart my illness, i am also doing this because i feel lost and a little blarrrggghhh and need to do SOMETHING otherwise i will go crazy. i was up all night with horrible thoughts and up all yesterday after a series of incredibly distressing dreams that have still left me feeling beat-up and sore.

my beat-up and sore is more than emotional though. alongside my ill, i am also still suffering from what i can only guess are bruised ribs after seeing Gogol on Wednesday.

we (Muffin and myself) arrived in Seattle after a day of me trying to get him not to go. he'd been ill and i knew that if he went he'd just complain the whole time and not enjoy the music as much as i did. he insisted on going so we arrived and i immediately snuggled myself directly in front of the stage, against the railing, between a very large girl that looked alarmingly like Origami and a tiny girl who looked alarmingly like one of Muffin's friends. the large girl was pleasant and spoke to me until the bands started... Muffin was situated behind me, protecting me from the masses of fans behind us until, after about an hour of Gogol performing, he was shoved aside and i immediately became crushed.

the top of the railing was situated JUST below my tits, allowing for it to apply ample pressure on my ribs and lungs anytime the hundreds of creatures behind me shifted. the pressure became more and more until, after about ninety minutes of them playing, i felt i was going to vomit and then i collapsed. i didn't even realize i had collapsed... i fell forward on the railing and the large girl next to me asked me if i was okay. my brain immediately clicked in (without the rest of my body) and i realized i do not have health insurance, money or means for being seen-to at a hospital, so i shouted i was fine and lifted my head and waved my hands for water from the mullet-ed bouncer stood in front of me. it was only after the drink of water that i realized i couldn't see. i had no idea how long i'd been out and i had no idea what was going on, but there was a lot of noise and i was still being crushed. i turned my body to attempt to reduce the pain in my chest and to find Muffin (which, btw, the BEST way to feel guilty, is to have your boyface go to a gig with you whilst he's ill, only to find that he looks bored and completely miserable every single time you look at him). i grabbed him and said i had passed out and needed to go to the toilet. i could only make out vague shapes and the stress of the noise and movement was making me more wobbly by the minute. he guided me to the toilet where i washed my face and stood until i could see more than shadows then we left.

worst. gig. ever.

so i'm still sore and... meh. it was scary. i've never passed-out before and i never thought i'd be one of THOSE GIRLS that passes out at a gig, but now, apparently, i am.

physical things aside, Muffin and i have been talking, in a very pixellated and frustrated fashion, but still talking.

there are still a lot of topics i refuse to approach him with, because i know that it just won't do any good and, i guess, given my history with Christopher, i feel like i HAVE to deal with all of this alone because they're MY PROBLEMS and it's not Muffin's job to fix me. when i ask for help or love or support, his shit's always bigger, so i never really feel like the stuff i feel is very important. and then when i get a little emo about it all, i just end up feeling stupid, as per usual, for having felt something questionable or wanting a little more.

i can see, right now, how i am falling into the same patterns that i fell into when i moved in England. the depression and helplessness. i don't know anybody, i don't have a job, i don't have any money and a lot of my favourites, the people i loved the hardest, they're gone.

i seem to have completely lost the will to fight. like a dog who's been given that final shot to be put to sleep, but still has the little bits of energy to kick or flail its limbs. i remember this feeling in England. i remember the helplessness and i want to stop it now, because it almost killed me then and right now, it seems to be accelerating and feeling worse by the day. it's stressing Muffin out and... i don't know.

he feels like he's losing me. he held me so tight last night and said he didn't know what to do. i don't even feel like it's appropriate for me to ask for anything specific anymore... i just feel stupid when he gets like that. like i've done something wrong. i feel like i shouldn't have to ASK him to do nice things... i feel like he should want to do nice things for me if he feels like he's losing me, that i'm not going to tell him what to do.

eh. this isn't going anywhere. i'm gonna go for a fag.

have a better day than me. please.


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