I’m always needing to obsess about one thing just to keep my mind idle.
Sometimes I forget to know how to feel, and I try to feel but I can’t. I get so wrapped up in my unfeeling that everything naturally disappears. I don’t mean to hurt you like you say that I hurt you, in fact, in the moment I can’t even imagine how I do, because there I am trying to hurt myself and I can’t feel a thing. To me, how can you possibly?
And I’m usually so detached that I can’t even vaguely remember what it’s like to feel, or that the reason I’m numb to begin with is to escape from that. But there I am, doing anything to try to get that feeling back just so I can figure out whether this is real or not, and I can’t trace things far back enough to know. Only to those last thoughts, “this isn’t happening… this isn’t happening…”
I’m artificially fixing myself with self-destruction: drugs, starvation and no sleep. I’m holding the torn bits back together with tape, if you will. It works enough to fool myself and enough to fool the world. The cracks are there, as obvious as broad daylight, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that people will turn a blind eye.
I couldn’t give a shit about my weight or appearance. I’m always the same monster despite the body I hide behind. This is about my insides. This is about the filthy fragility that presents itself when health dominates my body. This is about what falls apart and becomes exposed when people get past my body and into my mind, digging for the root of fragmentation, fragmenting me further in the process. I flake off and fly into the night.
For some, this is about control, but for me I prefer the word adhesion. The numbness that keeps me bound. No one can tear me apart and nothing can break me. Numb I may be, but numb I am as one. I fly into the night, complete, and watch the world fade behind me.