The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

If it's Wednesday, it's therapy day, only today it isn't. I just couldn't pull myself together to get off the floor and do anything. Since Saturday. Most of the time, I curled up on the floor and just lay there, waiting for it to pass. I'm not even sure what triggered this breakdown, maybe a phone call coming from my old friends who tried to cheer me up and take me out for the night, maybe the contemplation of a completely useless social interaction, who can tell? 

What's for sure is the fact that I got this glimpse of a completely useless act I've been tempted to perform or be part of and from there it all went out of control, the void spread in my brain and brought me down with the realization that nothing was really worth trying anymore as if I've seen it all and nothing would matter anymore. So I crawled under a blanket and there I lay for a couple of days drifting in and out of some sort of revery or slumber; I wasn't even sure whether I was asleep or awake. I heard my phone ringing until the battery was dead, and the usual wife beating neighbour from upstairs, but that was pretty much all I can recall.

Then, I had to tend to my bodily functions, so I tried to eat something, but my guts recoiled in horror, so all the food went back the way it entered my body. During my laying there I must have lost control of my bladder, because I smelled a heavy stench surrounding me and my pants were stained and the floor was sticky and covered with some unidentified,
hardened grey-ish matter.

The cold sweat always stinks. It is as if all the putrid filth that slowly rots in your brain poisoning your live comes to the surface to give evidence of the sick things that are inside. When combined with a crisis of diarrhea, it becomes the perfect combo. The brain stops all mental activity and continuously focuses on the smell. The odour. The stench. The unwanted guest at the perfumed table. The hidden dirty secret uncovered in all its decaying grandeur. The brain is always awed by fetid odours, yet the body doesn’t care about the aesthetics of yellow or brown matter being expelled with so much hesitation. The brain tries to stop the pestilential flood, yet it doesn’t really matter, the sphincters and pores seem to controlled by some treacherous dark side which undermines any attempt for decency or common sense.

I remembered that I was supposed to do things, but that didn't matter anymore. The trigger that threw me into the arms of oblivion must have triggered my survival instinct again: I wasn't ready to take that step again, I was to easy. So I drove myself up and tried to cleanse and feed myself, another couple of tragic victories on today's list.

I opened my computer and charged my phone: among so many bloating messages, I only took joy in one - I have been fired. Good, another step towards my freedom.

                                                              "Now it's the time for me to rise to my feet,
                                                               Wipe your spit from my face,
                                                               Wipe these tears from my eyes."

                                                                              Hatebreed - I will be heard

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