20:44
Trying to ground myself has recently become a very hard thing to do.
The worst thing is coming out of a cinema after watching a film for hours, familiarising and immersing myself into the world of that film, so when I leave I see unfamiliar faces of my friends and a strange world. I get so easily sucked into things, so film watching really isn’t something I can do without it having quite a big impact on how I am for the rest of the day, possibly for longer. My friends like to laugh about me never watching any films and I laugh along with them, writing down films that I’m going to never watch because I know it will damage me. The strange feeling of hope always appears just after watching a film. I have this sudden thought that I might be in a completely different universe where I can finally be happy, and getting myself out of that mindset is very hard.
Baths are something that help to ground me. The feeling of the hot water stinging at every pore in my body brings me down from whatever comet I’ve been floating on and puts my eyes back in my head instead of them five feet behind me, and my voice my in my throat instead of being played on a record in some body that isn’t mine, the warmth giving me calmness instead of anxiety. Bubbles float in the water like my brain floats in my head, each drip from the tap a thought leaking into a careless stream of water. I spend hours tracing the patterns on the walls with my fingers, letting the water go cold around me as I trace intricate shapes with pretty colours from memories that seem much clearer than the actual now.
Memories are painted in blues oranges whites reds greens purples yellows pinks and every colour in between, whilst now is a grey brown black smudge on a huge canvas. The outlines of the memories are clear, each shape sharp, corners pricking, edges gliding, circles sliding, the now memories smudged at each corner, each memory fading into one another like a beautiful tragedy. What happened a year ago? I can’t tell if it’s the brown blob or the grey fingermark. Happy memories in yellows and oranges, outlined in white with green specs and pink stripes. Sad memories in deep navy’s, rich purples, dark crimsons, but still clear. These date back too far - my now memories consist of the past 5 years of my life gone by in a blur.
My head’s a canvas and I feel bad for painting - each memory I make feels wrong, like I shouldn’t be making memories, just wallowing in self pity about myself, but I continue to make these blurry blind smudges. I make them to make myself happier, and my friends, even though ur breaks me inside.
Maybe one day my now memories will begin to outline again.
The worst thing is coming out of a cinema after watching a film for hours, familiarising and immersing myself into the world of that film, so when I leave I see unfamiliar faces of my friends and a strange world. I get so easily sucked into things, so film watching really isn’t something I can do without it having quite a big impact on how I am for the rest of the day, possibly for longer. My friends like to laugh about me never watching any films and I laugh along with them, writing down films that I’m going to never watch because I know it will damage me. The strange feeling of hope always appears just after watching a film. I have this sudden thought that I might be in a completely different universe where I can finally be happy, and getting myself out of that mindset is very hard.
Baths are something that help to ground me. The feeling of the hot water stinging at every pore in my body brings me down from whatever comet I’ve been floating on and puts my eyes back in my head instead of them five feet behind me, and my voice my in my throat instead of being played on a record in some body that isn’t mine, the warmth giving me calmness instead of anxiety. Bubbles float in the water like my brain floats in my head, each drip from the tap a thought leaking into a careless stream of water. I spend hours tracing the patterns on the walls with my fingers, letting the water go cold around me as I trace intricate shapes with pretty colours from memories that seem much clearer than the actual now.
Memories are painted in blues oranges whites reds greens purples yellows pinks and every colour in between, whilst now is a grey brown black smudge on a huge canvas. The outlines of the memories are clear, each shape sharp, corners pricking, edges gliding, circles sliding, the now memories smudged at each corner, each memory fading into one another like a beautiful tragedy. What happened a year ago? I can’t tell if it’s the brown blob or the grey fingermark. Happy memories in yellows and oranges, outlined in white with green specs and pink stripes. Sad memories in deep navy’s, rich purples, dark crimsons, but still clear. These date back too far - my now memories consist of the past 5 years of my life gone by in a blur.
My head’s a canvas and I feel bad for painting - each memory I make feels wrong, like I shouldn’t be making memories, just wallowing in self pity about myself, but I continue to make these blurry blind smudges. I make them to make myself happier, and my friends, even though ur breaks me inside.
Maybe one day my now memories will begin to outline again.