Ego Death

 

You laughed when you said ego death was weird, and I didn't quite understand what you meant, but I told you I knew because I wanted you to like me.

Now we are actually friends, I should tell you that ego death, depersonalisation, dissociation, was not something I got to eat on a road trip with my friends.

I first died as a child, I fell into a chasm of my consciousness, hid in that hole like a dropped dead body whenever the bears came. My ego died the day I thought my father would murder me he screamed so loudly. My ego died when my grandfather touched my child body the wrong way, and I had to live with myself, and him, afterwards. My ego dies when the waves of self-hatred come, boiling hot water floods me, at least once a day, from my baby years to now, everytime I remember what he did to my body.

I dissociate all day, because random things remind me of being attacked, or of living in an unsafe environment. If you are to stay alive, you must kill the ego, for it will not keep you alive. A cool head, a deceptive disconnection from the reality of your life will be what keeps you moving.

Do I not deserve something better? I am in so much pain every day, its like I get high off of how much I can withstand. Can I not be conscious of my surroundings and happy at the same time? Or at least content?

4 November 2020

Spirals

 

Colours and marks

What love is to her

All I want

is to know how to love

not love

where skin and skin

rupture into one

gluing a moment

of sticky euphoria 

to our backs

holding our hands together

to prove it was more

than a pill popping rush

I want love 

I want to feel seen

I want to stop faking

a congenial girlish smile

I want to be suffocating under your issues NO MORE

I want to stop filling up my heart gaps

with Him

I want to stop fearing loneliness

more than enjoying your company

But I have a girl in my chest

who tugs at muscled men

with hearts who need holding

who require her prowling body

to press them together

I love being alone, but I hate being at home with Her

She has a habit

of forcing followers

dark dependents

to complete her circle of self loathing

You see, to her, love is a check list

goals

a binary of inertia and chaos

To her it isn’t love unless it’s on fire

Her motto:

A cruel man is always worth changing

because you will have made meaning together

Please give me meaning

Devote your selves, each one, to Him

And kill the non believers

Dear Diary, Some of these quarantine months

April

Diary entry

Dear Diary, it happens over and over

Source

So I met up with a couple of friends last night to marathon watch Teen Wolf, which was something we had planned to do for a while because a) The Tylers and b) Werewolves and c) Them suddenly finding themselves shirtless in the woods. And I was having fun most of the way, I like Teen Wolf, it's definitely not my favorite show and it has it's problems but I like it, but near the end I felt awful and fidgety and the last thing I wanted to do was watch Teen Wolf with my friends. To watch anything with anyone.

My mom came to pick me and my friend up because she needed a lift. I sat in the car and I laughed for a while and made normal conversation but my contentment was suddenly putrid and I stopped bothering to talk once we dropped my friend off. All I wanted to do was absolutely anything that I wasn't going to do that night. Because I knew that what i was going to do was fall into the place I have habitually carved out for myself. I'm going to get home, make conversation with maybe my sister, take a shower, dry my hair, watch an episode of something, get changed, try and write, go to bed. Over and over.

So I was sitting with my shoulders hunched forward, my elbow resting on my leg and my head resting on my hand, eyeing the world on the other side of my window with my mom's lighter under my thumb, letting it spark and glow then die again next to my face. Over and over.

I wanted to drive and keep on driving, cut my hair off with my craft scissors, set fire to the sexist "help wanted" signs in front of that restaurant, stand in a pool of blood, just walk and keep on walking alone, cut open living flesh, sew up a wound, sit and talk to that stranger at that cafe, get into a fight, throw something to break a window, I wanted to do something that I'd never done because I realized how long that list is. I've been thinking about this for months but I think the best way to describe this feeling would be violent murk.

 It was short lived but it was too powerful for me to ignore.

I want to say that I know what it all means and that I know why I keep feeling this way (because yes, it's happened before) and that I know that it's normal, but I can't. All I'm going to do is hope that it's normal.

Maybe this is what an early quarter-life crisis feels like.
-Maggie ☾