Monday, October 31, 2005

nuttier than squirrel shit # 2

and then there are the voices. or the voice, rather. i think everyone must have this but no one ever talks about it. in addition to my normal inner-monologue "me" voice that thinks shit i could very well say, you know, there's this other voice, that sounds like me only is incredibly antagonoistic, and always wants to engage the first voice in arguments, often assuming the character of someone with whom i've recently had a very painful conflict and rehashing the things they've said, kind of from their point of view, but with my intelligence at its disposal, and complete knowledge of everything that could possibly hurt me, you know, and so essentially perfectly equipped to not only make me relive every single instance of ever having had a bad argument with someone, and of course especially if it's been bothering me already, but to do it relentlessly, with inhuman persistence-- it never stops. It's always there, just as much a part of me as... well, myself. When I say "voice" i don't mean that I'm actually hearing the voice like a schizophrenic does but, you know, like when you think shit to yourself you kind of hear it in your head (and subvocalize it,) it's on that level. Only i'm not controlling it and i don't feel like it's coming fom me, per se. Although it clearly is.

There was another thing with the devil-- there was this fear that I had somehow unwittingly sold my soul to the devil, or that the devil was going to somehow come get my soul in the night. There were these long litanies and incantations I had to recite to ward him off.. they were these unbelievably elaborate arcane kind of free-verse poems with bizarre codes and little sub-rituals* that had to be performed in exactly the right way, not missing a single word and without a single pause and if I fucked up I had to do it again ten times, exactly perfectly each time, and If I fucked one of those ten times up things got really bad-- mainly with this one I had to do it each night before I slept, or the devil would come and take my soul overnight, and I would go to hell forever-and the concept of “forever” was very like visceral and concrete...

the whole devil thing was from like 8 to 12.

*they were put together from quasi-legalistic language and old BASIC computer code.

Monday, October 10, 2005

diary 7/23/05: sprinkles cupcake bakery

So should I go to Sprinkles or not? I've been thinking about it all day and there are weird obsessive drives on either side.

But I have this whole plan; I know exactly what I would get. One dark chocolate. One pumpkin, one strawberry, one vanilla, one red velvet with cream cheese frosting. That leaves one extra, which would either be pumpkin or vanilla. Or maybe strawberry. And then three extra shots of frosting, either three vanilla or two vanilla and one strawberry. Or maybe I would add the vanilla milk chocolate as the sixth cupcake, although there doesn't really have to be a sixth cupcake since there is no bulk discount. Six cupcakes as a group cost exactly the same as they would purchased separately.

But I want the fucking cupcakes. Desperately. I would drive out there on the same route that I drive to work-- a half hour, park at the work lot, walk over there, and bring the cupcakes back, and then go eat them with chad and courtney. So I have this idea planted in my head and it's like jonesing for coke-- if it doesn't happen I'll be crabby and weird. At the same time, if I do do it I'll feel that same creeping weight-loss guilt and won't be able to get over it. And then when... when I start fiending for fruit or whatever on sunday night I'll feel all guilty-- didn't weigh myself today..... this whole thing is just all hairy and out of control. I mean, I couldn't just eat one cupcake because the whole effort of going out there requires that it be the be-all end-all experience, and I want to make sure all the desired flavors are represented. Plus I want the cupcake-eating experience to last for a long time.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

binge eating

My binge eating has transcended the point where it brings on euphoria. Now I eat until I experience gut-spliting pain. I eat beyond my physical capacity to eat. Like 10 slices of pound cake at a buffet. 35 chocolate chip cookies at a pilot premiere. And if I need to take a break, if I can't possibly take in any more, I reach for the booze. Liquid food.

My life is full of buffets now. I can't take drugs anymore and nobody will fuck me. Grinding my body down to a thin wick on the stairmaster has burned out some central fuse that tells people when to stop eating and I'm left with infinite hunger, a bottomless need to cram anything at all-- especially sweet foods-- into a hole that will never be filled. Eating is better than fucking, better than masturbating, better than having some great intellectual insight, certainly better than any constructive or creative act. Eating and its horrible guilt, and its corresponding self-flagellatory hours shredding my tendons and bones on the stairmaster... this awful cycle of regret and further self-debasement that happens because I have no girlfriend and very few friends and so quite simply nothing else to do with my time.

junkie ex #4

She told people that I beat her. This was after we broke up, and in fact after she had gotten together with another guy to whom she would also get engaged, but while we were still fucking. It got back to me through a couple different people. What actually happened was that one night while we were fighting, and I was super fucking piss drunk, we were yelling and screaming on the bed and I kind of knelt on top of her and shook her by the shoulders for a few seconds. And I mean-- I know that's fucking stupid, and wrong... but all the people who eventually talked to me about it seemed to get the impression that I had absolutely beaten the piss out of her on a habitual basis. Closed fist, etc., so -- whatever. Later that same night was when I became completely non compos and fucking climbed out onto the ledge outside her high window screaming my fool head off, and she called the cops; I got dragged off to the nuthouse for the night. Not by best moment.

Monday, October 03, 2005

mouth tumors

And I have mouth tumors, these little translucent blobs, little polyps on my inner lip that appear, become painful, tumesce, and then the pain goes away but the thing-- what I can only assume is a precancerous growth-- does not. There are like four of them now. I don't give a shit if I die but I know that if I did have cancer it would be cancer of the face, where they have to chop off my bottom lip and replace it with blister-smooth un-color-matched tissue from my thigh or something, or pig-fetus skin...

Or cancer of the dick. Or the ass. Cancer that would either ruin my last days of life in the most hideous possible way or some kind of embarassing cancer where the shame of telling about it would outweigh any mileage I'd get from telling people i'm dying.

when i don't get laid,

sometimes when I look in the mirror I look violently ugly... ugly like a car accident. Ugly like a birth defect, like chromosome damage. Chernobyl ugly.