Root Dumps

Memories pile together in my head like an ever thickening brush pile. Stories and thoughts spiral out from the thick center, sticks and twigs strung with only a few frail leaves. They go up and out in no order, but are all stuck to the center in some fashion. Plastic and glass litter the pile, wrappers of memories, nothing sweet or bitter within - just empty junk. Natural mixed with synthetic, ready to be brought to the dump.

For two nights now, my sleep has been an open window of consciousness. The haze of my unconscious weeps through the sill, splattering into my open eyes. Could tears both fall and fizzle from sleep and from dreams? I remember Monster climbing all over me, purring in my ear and licking my open face as my immobile self tried to sleep. Monster was locked in her room all night though, it wasn't real. They're not dreams - they're hallucinations in my struggle to sleep.

I woke today to bright blue skies, but cold crisp soil. I made a breakfast burrito and took my half a Paxil. I played guitar a little bit, and waited for time to whittle down til I left for my counseling appointment. I visited Mike for a bit before and watched some television. My mum called me and told me I needed to take my brother to a dentist's appointment after my counseling appointment. This frustrated me a bit, and so I took an Ativan. I went to my appointment.

I talked to Dr. S about nothing. It is amazing the many different ways you can talk about nothing. I jumped from memory and thought incongruently, describing the days leading up to my suicide plan and the days following my stay in the psychiatric ward like my brush pile. I tried sticking a hand into it, grasping for anything I could find, and I gave it to him. I told him that my feelings are only attempts to satisfy outside perceptions. That without a sense of self, the only way to define yourself is through the eyes of those that see you. If nobody sees you, you don't feel anything. Only if there were nobody else, could you feel. Time was up.

At home I made a lunch wrap, and I took my 5-htp. I drove with my brother to his dentist's appointment and read a Time magazine while he sat with the dentist. When he came out he couldn't talk, they had put something in his sockets to dull the pain. We drove home. I went back over to Mike's and Garrett was there. They played some video games, and then Mike showed up as well. I left after a while, and buttered around the house. I ate a boca burger for dinner, and some nuts my mum bought. I took another Ativan, and wittled time down. I ate a little piece of cheesecake, the sweetest thing I have had in a month. I brushed my teeth. Garrett knocked on my window, and I went outside and bummed a cigarette off of him. This is my third cigarette since before the Psych ward. He came inside and while he played guitar I did a pastel drawing of his face. I don't think it came out very well - most don't. People move, photos don't. Memories pile and shift in the wind, my mind shifts with it. We talked a little, he didn't get into this safety school for the fall, so he's worried he won't get into his choice university. Don't worry I say, universities only decide on the flip of a coin, anyhow.

I took half a seroquel and lay on my couch. I wonder how far my dreams will creep out of their hole tonight. Crawling memories.