“Fuck this. Fuck this wondering. Fuck this trying and trying. Fuck this belief that two people can become one ideal. Fuck this helplessness. Fuck this waiting for something to happen that probably won’t ever happen.”

It’s almost like living constantly on the boarder-line of the panic attack. You can get used to it. Now you know you need this extra two minutes in the morning – so you have enough time to stop clenching your teeth. You also start leaving post-it notes for yourself to remember to eat, to sleep…

If I wake up after 4 am I consider myself lucky; if it’s after 5:30 – it calls for celebration. That’s on normal days. It might be a bit later if I sit through night, submerged in the doubtful and erratic process of making “art”…

Today it’s one of these days. It’s after 8. I’ve just woken up and I can feel that drugs I have taken last night just before turning in are working – only now taking their effect. I may sway a bit and it’s a tad bit difficult to catch my own reflection in the mirror while I’m brushing teeth. But it’s OK. In a way I prefer it like that – far away from my own self, numbed and with everything that may be sad and painful – packed neatly in a semi-transparent bundle I am aware of but don’t need to deal with – at least not now.

I am waiting for my friend to wake up and I am drinking from this glass I thought is water, but it appeared to be a vodka. Surprise at first (neither bad nor good) – but – hell – why the fuck not…

Today is a general – fuck you sad-sad sadness.

High and drunk before noon. Shit.WIN_20160609_11_02_57_Proa


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