Fish Bowl

I am jumping. From my bed to the kitchen to the front room. From the future to the past to imaginary people.

I think I am acting like a depressed person. I think I could convince people that I am depressed. I won’t leave my apartment unless there’s no way around it. I sleep all day. I have no interests.

But I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel pain. I don’t feel numb. I actually feel pretty good, at least at night, when I can chain smoke and bounce, bounce around my apartment.

It’s not quite that I can’t sleep. I am actively resisting sleep. I am throwing a tantrum against the concept of sleep because when I lie down in the dark my chest is full of electricity. In the daylight everything I do is wrong. The memories come back to me when I am still. I did this wrong, I did that wrong. Or, in the daylight I will have to do this, I will have to do that. I will do them wrong.

I am going home on Wednesday. I will be around my family and friends. I am hoping that will be a kind of connection that will ground me. I am worried that some kind of barrier will stop me from even getting there. Tomorrow I have to be a person, present a project, get prescriptions filled, meet a petsitter. I am worried that I am getting closer to a line where “I prefer not to do this” becomes “I can’t do this.”

I don’t want to think about it. So I bounce away.

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