Make Me Feel

Dear Hearts,

“Sunday Morning”

“Complacencies of the peignoir, and late

Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair…” Wallace Stevens

    I was incredibly lazy today. I was in bed until almost noon I think. I haven’t thought of that poem in years.

    There is no sun here, the oranges have all rotted and we threw them out a few days ago, and my peignoir was a Salem, Mass tee-shirt and the Barbie-boxers I OD’ed in. I don’t generally wear them—but I could find Dad’s that I usually sleep in.

    Mom did finally fucking get here. Fucking airlines. She ended up coming in through a different airport at 9 p.m. Friday night after much ado. I fucking hate flying. I told several people thus. Poor Hazel—the Delta customer service rep. You’re on my confession list.

    It’s 3.45 and I have until 5.15 before we go out for pizza. And I am gonna has my cigarette and coffee without rushing, Goddamnit.

    I thought that having Mom here would make me feel better. I’m glad she’s here. I was so over-joyed to see here. I missed my mommy. But, I still feel depressed. I don’t really care that we’re going out for pizza. We walked up town to a clothing store Mom likes and browsed. She bought me a shirt on sale. I am grateful, because any money I am spending now is Mom and Dad’s. I should be happy or at least content today. I slept in, I had decadent pie last night, I drew not badly I took a walk, I’m with Mom…but I just feel…numb.

    “When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now. The child is grown. The dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb.” Pink Floyd

    I wish I were “comfortably numb.” There’s a detachment there—but I still feel uneasy about just living.

    Fuck me. I complain so fucking much. But there have to be other people who feel like this—it can’t just be me. I can’t just be a lazy, selfish, malingering bitch.

    “Hello, is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?” (Pink Floyd.)

I just want to know that I am not a particularly special sort of loser. I want someone else to say—yes, this is not your fault. Depression is a real disease. You have it. There is another side.

But if someone said that to me, would I even believe it?

I had a full-on temper tantrum last night over the misplacement of G-Pa’s keys. I could hear and see myself having this fit. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I was out of line with Mom. Hell, the fucking neighborhood heard me.”

“I DON’T CARE IF I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF TOWN. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK!”

They all heard me.

There was this anger in me—and it just came out last night. It just spewed out. Was that a way of cleansing the demons—the way Jesus did? Or was I just having a fit?

What am I angry about? So much. I prefer not to talk about it today.

But, I think it’s okay to just lose your shit sometimes. Just freak out and swear and have a good old-fashioned rage.

I want to feel. Aunt Faerie and Mom went to Mass with me last night! That meant so much to me. (15 more mins.) And the priest that I like was there! The one who know how to put the Host in your mouth and keep his fingers out. I have never introduced myself to the man. I just slip out after Mass.

I want to feel happy. Or a moment of joy. Or just get the fucking weight off my body.

But, I know what Mom being here means. It means that I will be going back East soon and then I have to face reality:

I have to let go of my (I shake) of My House.

What if all this time I were really able to work and hold it together and I just got lazy. What if I just wasted and threw away a life that could have been good?

I prayed last night with all my Being.

PLEASE GOD PLEASE HELP ME. I DON’T KNOW HOW, BUT HELP ME. HELP ME.

I love pizza! Why…

“Make me feel good…make me feel good…make me feel good…” Monster’s Ball.

Make me feel something other than this—nothingness and alternating hurt.

I can say that I am letting go but I AM FUCKING LOSING my house. I am losing it. I have no house. No career. No point. How much better everyone would be without me. Why can’t they see that?

I’m gonna have coffee and a cigarette now. It won’t be as good as I want it to be.

Fuck you, Kate. Fuck me. Fuck.

“Make me feel…”

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Why do I even bother with this blog? Who the fuck cares? Really. Maybe my family is delusional too.

PPS: I'm sorry God...everyone.

PPPS: There are ghosts in the East. But they are in me too. I just told Mom who is waiting to use my laptop that I'm sorry she ever had me. In a joking way...but seriously...

Can I wake up  now?