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Today I had just one class, watercolors. I think I'm falling into an episode. Descending like dense pigment dropped in clean water on the paper. Yesterday I just wanted to cry. For no real reason. I listened to the 2008 la dispute album, from atat to finish twice. And today back with it.
The class is 2 and a half hours, one was just of listening. And stand. And watch.
The wind is cold, it's strong.
The sea was angry. Violent. You could stand 5 meters from it and still feel drops on your face from the way it broke on the rocks, the wind moving against you, and you'd see this white mist, like the wind wanted to help the sea continue its travel.
It's just 6 pm when you find the sky completely dark already, just the faintest memory of the sun in soft light streaks fading away.
And I feel myself fading away.
I painted a tree. Used too much brown. It looked dead. And this way I feel.
At the end of class I cleaned everything slowly. Plenty of trains I could catch, for once.
Purple went, and I checked which bus shed take.
I looked at the sea for a few minutes. And took another bus.
I am alone
And even when last year I talked to them, I didn't felt in. Like a glass wall was always between us. And so going back is not an option. Because that back already felt cold when it was the present.
And so I'm alone, making my wounds and cleaning them. And writing and drawing will never substitute the outlet of just talking.
And I have no friend. And I have no therapist.
I'm alone and I don't how I'll survive the winter.
Thoughts of smoking again. Thoughts of harming again.
To destroy my body before my brain crumbles. And it will crumble.
I stand on sidewalks, waiting for busses. I close my eyes when I car runs past. And I imagine being in front of it.
That's ab it
A ghost writing from the grave, signing off.
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