Entry 24 - Stockpiling Mental Mosquito Bites and Other Repulsive Reactions

The deepest griefs can’t be spoken or eased with sympathy or empathy. The deepest pains are never described and never shared. The deepest sadness is trapped in the dark corners of your own heart forever. The little hurts can be talked about. There are tools for that. But for the deep hurts, nothing fixes those.

Come away, oh come away

I’ll see no sorrow, I’ll see no joy

I’ll not be lonely, I’ll not be bound

Keep rollin on, keep rollin on

Past trials and despair.

Past fears and fires.

All this pain is mine, all mine.

Keep rollin on, keep rollin on.

I’ll keep it to myself, for now. I’ll hold it close and tight

I’ll wrap it up and store it deep

And swallow up my tongue.

Alone, it’s true, but mine.

You can’t have it there.

Keep your cash and praise and pity,

I’ll keep rollin on my own.

My mind is itchy again. A unique kind of brain-fever that seems to thrive in my psyche. It itches and kind of burns – every thought seems hot. Maybe I’m psychotic. I just want motion, change, a constant restlessness that makes me leap from topic to topic, friend to friend. My body even shows it. Twitchy, restless. I can keep it relatively contained, but my mind flits with oppressive abandon to everything but stillness. Itchy, itchy. The more I scratch, the more itchy I get. A mental mosquito bite all the time. I wonder if this is hell? To scratch until you bleed, get no relief, only more itches?

I would like to share a lot of this with R, but why? It’s not like x cares or would listen. Which isn’t fair – x does listen. Sort of. But the point is that I want to talk to x, really talk. About deep things. I just can’t for some reason. I don’t know why x should be my choice and not someone who actually cares, but there you go. I’m tired and being dumb.