she'll explain it to you later

and now it's okay, because i know what is happening, what i am doing, and what i have done. but it's not quite over yet, so i suppose it's still good (depending how you look at it). in the realm of what works. numbers, no - let's forget the numbers, and please let me forget the belt that presses into me even now, because it's not me. there is a big tub of blood, brain, and nerves and muscle, and it is holding what is no longer me. but it isn't a problem. PLEASE. go. away. you aren't helping, i'm sure i would have grown to love you, but you aren't. i don't need or want you at the moment. i will in future, never fear, but they're the ones who know that phrase and not me so that must mean they're coming back because i don't know those words.

am i crazy? i haven't been crazy for a while, so i'm not quite sure how it feels. that's a lie. i know exactly how it feels. i don't exist anymore. that is nice. lovely. loneliness. i want to go back to that place. or is it back? was i ever there? it's possible, of course, i just think i was.

that's not where it was; i looked for it there, and i looked for it in the bridge of acid from my throat to my fingers to the porcelain, but it wasn't there. but i don't think it's at the bottom of a bottle either. is it buried deep in the seeds of a burst of bright blue? maybe, maybe, perhaps that's where it is. it has to be somewhere. somewhere other than here, because i don't see any doors or windows, but it must have come in through some entrance. no, let's go back and be lovely, be lovely together...

hold that thought, because it may run away from you otherwise, small animal, and the belt isn't leaving and neither is the hole. it's trying to bring me back, and i want nothing more than to leave and stay away. i like it this way. please, don't find my anchor. please, don't bring me back to earth. wide awake but not exactly and that belt just won't leave me alone. please, won't you leave just for a few years? no, this is a lie. i do exist right now. i don't need to, though. and i don't particularly want to at the moment.

NO. please leave me alone because you're just going to bring the bad things back and that's not what we need right now. please, you're not helping right now.

i tried telling him about it. the tiredness and the soreness and feeling fatter - the BEING fatter. i was scared, and i wanted him to know, but i didn't want to scare him and wanted to figure this out on my own first. but now it's okay because i'm bleeding and cramping and hurting and it's gone. it won't be back. it promised. we promised.

Field Guide to My Signs and Symptoms

- If I eat peanut butter on bread, chocolate, or jellybeans, I'm regressing back into childhood.

- If I hang in or around a kitchen looking dazed and increasingly anxious, I'm hungry but refuse to eat.

- If I keep saying I want to clean my room, but never do, and get a lost, confused expression on my face when you remind me, I'm depressed.

- If, when you hand me something to put away in my room or on a shelf, I stare at it for a second in bewilderment before putting it on the nearest vaguely horizontal surface (even if the right place to put it is only a few feet away), I'm really depressed.

- If I read The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I'm zoning out and not thinking about anything.

- If I ask to bring a journal with me somewhere weird, like to watch a movie, let me. I need it.

- If I keep checking my bag, saying that I'm sure I've left my phone/iPod/wallet/keys somewhere, I'm anxious.

- If I'm staring intently at something, don't try to "snap [me] out of it." I'm perfectly conscious.

- On the other hand, if I'm staring oddly at something, my mouth slightly open and my head is swaying and my hands are sluggish, I'm having a hyponagogic hallucination. Snap me out of it, please, and don't mention it later or I'll be mortified.

- If I'm making soft punching motions with one hand into the other arm, I want to slam my arms in a door.

- If I stay up late for no reason, I'm anxious.

- If I get antsy and complain about needing a shower, I want to purge.

- If I'm drinking a lot of water, I want to escape.

- If I have bruises on my arms and legs, I'm on autopilot.