sometimes i don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. i mean i know there’s a bunch of letters that scramble together to make a diagnosis and that it’s tattooed on my body somewhere in ugly font but sometimes i just feel like i’m experiencing life from the outside of an old photograph, taking pictures of moments that mean nothing even though they should be beautiful to me. i feel like i’m a passenger in a ship but also the captain, like i have to watch it crash and stay on it.
what i’m saying here is i’m sorry sometimes i’m not really there. i’m sorry and i love you but sometimes i take off of this planet and forget how to get back inside of me. like i’m operating only on the basic instructions. i’m sorry i break down easily it’s just that i feel nothing and then suddenly i feel everything or maybe i still feel nothing it’s just that i can’t figure out what exactly is the reason i’m crying.
that’s what i mean. that i know but i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i know why i don’t clean my room or get up and organize my work or tell her i can see her on her birthday. but i don’t know why i haven’t pulled out the stitches from my tongue and told him that i am so sad i’m splitting from it. or why i cry during commercials where the families are all happy. or why outside it’s warm and sticky and i want to be struck by lightning. i mean i am boiling, but it’s like watching a pot go over on the t.v. like nothing is happening to me. what i’m saying is that there’s a difference between knowing you’ve got an excuse and finding yourself sleeping for a little over four hours a night. what i’m saying is i’m sorry. i’m not alright.
