all we are is all alone....

Warning: this could be annoying to read.

I am horribly depressed. I went off Prozac sometime within the past week or so, because I lost the bottle and forgot I was supposed to be taking it. The pharmacy won't refill it since I should still have some; I was just there trying to get it. I started Trazadone for sleep - I don't know if that could be making me more depressed? I went to the local NAMI support group tonight. It was okay...

Just everything is hitting me right now. I feel like I am hitting rock bottom, just realizing how badly I've really been doing lately. My apartment is in absolute shambles. I have no job and no prospects for one. I am alone most of the time now, and I hate how isolated I've become. I connect with people through writing on a computer because THAT IS HOW EMPTY MY LIFE ACTUALLY HAS BECOME.

I'm a pathetic, crying mess.

And in the middle of this chaos that is the state of my life, I decide I'm too deluded about my friend and so I destroy my friendship with this person and all in all, I was just trying to have hope for the future, and I was not really that delusional. I mean, my doctor even told me I am not delusional right now....

it doesn't really matter. Delusional or not, the fact is I am really alone in the universe, and I am TIRED of being so alone.

The below is one of my favorite poems. It's why my first email address was eyemote@hotmail. What I want back is what I was - like 15 years ago.

"The Eyemote"

Blameless as daylight I stood looking
At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown,
Tails streaming against the green
Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was striking
White chapel pinnacles over the roofs,
Holding the horses, the clouds, the leaves

Steadily rooted though they were all flowing
Away to the left like reeds in a sea
When the splinter flew in and stuck my eye,
Needling it dark. Then I was seeing
A melding of shapes in a hot rain:
Horses warped on the altering green,

Outlandish as double-humped camels or unicorns,
Grazing at the margins of a bad monochrome,
Beasts of oasis, a better time.
Abrading my lid, the small grain burns:
Red cinder around which I myself,
Horses, planets and spires revolve.

Neither tears nor the easing flush
Of eyebaths can unseat the speck:
It sticks, and it has stuck a week.
I wear the present itch for flesh,
Blind to what will be and what was.
I dream that I am Oedipus.

What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind.


-Sylvia Plath