Witness As The Last Of My Sanity Melts Away

I’m sipping Dreamtime tea. That is a legitimate thing that really does exist and I, stalwart eschew-er of anything that isn’t proper tea with milk and sugar even at 2am, am sipping it. It’s so sweet it’s like being pelted in the face by ten thousand penny sweets with every mouthful.

So intense is my love for sugar I have been known to sneak half a teaspoon straight from the jar onto my tongue because it’s 4pm and I need something to get me through until bedtime. It’s like my secret lover, a bit dirty and sordid but ohmygodsogoodmoremoremore. This tea is possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, even sweeter than the moment I relent to the sexy siren song of the sugar jar and scoop spoonfuls into my mouth with a wild and rabid lust.

Tonight, once the final light is switched off and I pull the duvet around my ears to wait for sleep not only will I be running through all of my life’s regrets and memories and unanswerable questions, I will also be weighing up the merits of different substances to act as an anti-sweetener. Salt? Lemon? Marmite? The tears that spill from a kittens eyes when you explain the pointlessnes of existence? Something needs to be done. Nothing this sickly saccharine should exist.

But, I need to switch off. And I know that pretend tea is not the answer but it’s far more sane than smacking myself over the head with the tub it came in until I fall to the floor and into a fitful, concussed sleep.

Hahahahahaha, sane!

I keep getting these crashing waves of pain. Blinding, searing pain that beats the emotional shit out of me and then subsides as if it never happened. The fucker. Like a psychogenic labour it comes in wave after wave after wave of white hot agony. Every part of me wants to tense against it, to push away and try to resist but that only makes it worse and I know it after almost two days so I don’t tense anymore. I feel it rise and swell and I hold my breath and feel the preliminary needles of fear before forcing myself to exhale because it’s going to happen anyway.

It doesn’t so much wash over me as crash into me with bone shattering force. I’ve never felt emotional pain with the intensity to physically stop me in my tracks like I’ve been punched. I’ve never had to reach out to steady myself against the wall or the table or an unsuspecting arm because I’ve been smacked right in the solar plexus by anything so unseen.

I feel perversely short changed that after so long I don’t even have experience of all shades of sadness. But whatever. Surprise! This shit swoops in and it pins me down in a way that is so far from metaphorical it’s terrifying. And then the claws loosen and as if I can’t be grounded without it, I float up out of myself and hover above my own life while somehow this weird autonomous me is peeling herself from under the duvet and moving about as if she isn’t full of rapidly setting concrete.

Oh yeah, I live here!

Oh wow, these are my stairs right here that I’m climbing right now!

Oh shit, that’s my kid!

Oh, I forgot, I exist!

I get reminded of things out of the blue like its the most surreal and most natural thing woven together in some crazy memorandum tapestry of madness. Your life is here! You are now! Look at all the things!

It’s really, really weird.

If a crazy person feels like they’re going crazy and there’s no one around to hear, do they make a sound?