smileyjess

it's an addiction, just like any other. the more you indulge it, the more it demands to be indulged. you literally develop cravings and cannot focus until you've satisfied them.

the spinning in your head? the waver in your steps? after a couple of hours it went away... or were you just growing used to it?

you get a high from it, unlike any other. and you spend the rest of the time chasing that first one. you used to feel so good afterwards, utterly unstoppable. you emerged like a butterfly from a cocoon. you thought yourself prettier than before, more attractive and easy on the eyes.

a tolerance is developed. you need it more and more. soon you are seeking it six, seven, eight times a day.

when everything else is out of control, it is control.

it's all bullshit. you are not dictating where and when, it is. you can tell yourself beforehand you won't, but you will, and somewhere inside of you, you know this. you feel defenseless against it.

defenseless isn't even the right word. that implies that on some level you are fighting it. how can you fight that which you most desire? no. it demands, and you succumb to it.

not even succumb. you fucking throw yourself at it. just like you've thrown yourself at the feet of everything else in your life. here, please, walk all over me. take advantage of me. tell me what to do, how to act, what to feel, how to hide my intricate inadequacies, sweep them under the rug, the welcome mat. nope, no flaws here! just keep walking!

the illusion of control. it crushes you, suffocates you.

you have no fucking control. it does. irony's such a bitch.

i used to never feel anything but anxiety. i feigned happiness, sadness, and everything in between. i practiced smiles in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, staring intently at myself as though absorbed in an on-the-edge-of-your-seat movie. i placed my fingers on my forehead, on my cheeks, on my nose, ears, eyelids, mouth - trying to shape them this way and that into something somewhat acceptable. nothing ever satisfied me, and the fake smiles with soft eyebrows and round face never lasted too long. what was wrong with me? why wasn't i like the other (some rightfully, some not) stuck up private school drug fiends and drama queens and alcoholics and academics and athletes, et al?

my parents, fast like foxes, caught on to my persistent state of desperation at the tender age of 18. you think im exaggerating. fine, judge me, but fuck you. what do you call a girl who breaks down daily, has ridiculously high expectations of herself, only feels validated with someone's, anyone's fingertips locked in hers, thinks her class average to be some sort of actually-mattering numerical score at the game of life, can't stand herself, doesn't actually know herself, falls hopelessly in love at age 15 and never fully recovers from it despite the guy not being worth it, contemplates razors, craves attention, pushes everyone away, cries herself to sleep nightly, invents illnesses, and can't eat in front of other people?

desperate. that's the only word. in so many ways. desperate for any sort of real emotion, save for the self-destroying nervousness that gnaws away from the inside out and manifests itself in raccoon-like eyes, chewed downtothere fingernails, and disgusting protein-less hair.

somehow i meant to get around to talking about how if i only could feel one feeling, i'd want it to be connected. even if it's just one other person. at least i wouldn't feel so alone after everyone else leaves (which they always do).