Posted by: catsandfish | April 24, 2012


by Hannah Brown on Wednesday, October 26, 2011 at 7:08am ·


So yesterday was terrible. I flooded our apartment because I passed out while running a bath. I am glad William was so calm, because I had a panic attack when I woke up and saw the water.

Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink. I was reminded of Alice in the pool of her own tears.

Everyone is so damn calm, it pisses me off. Why can’t I be calm? I am on the outside, but right now inside is just a huge mess of anger…at myself for being stupid enough to run a bath while William was gone, at The Universe in general. I was much better with the rage for the past few months. Sometimes I can’t help it. I hate myself and my situation.

I am Dependant.

On the meds, on my doctor, on society in general,  on William.

For the girl who grew up in the woods, cooking over fires, running through the forest like a wild thing, the feral child, the angry teen with plans of world domination, black lipstick and a middle finger at structure, the career woman workaholic with her perfect pink lipstick and expensive things, screaming INDEPENDANCE, for all the past mes who still live inside me in some way, this is like prison.

I asked William to take me to the care home again. So I can wear a plastic bracelet and take the burden off of his shoulders and pass it on to the state, or just accrue my own massive amount of medical debt, I am not sure how it would work. If his little sister wasn’t moving in with us, I think I would just find a bus schedule and go in the night. He is Atlas, the world on his shoulders, my world, but he never drops it, never flinches. He just tells me everything is OK, he is happy to be with me. I don’t understand this. I feel totally useless to him. A bother, a constant mess living in his house, the elephant in the room, a ragged ghost of the angry girl he met, somehow even paler now than before, my medical problems draining our spirits and our bank accounts to their breaking point.

I feel like a pool of radioactive toxic waste, everything I touch takes a little of my sickness with it.

I find it hard to ask people to interact with me, to be my friends, my family, my doctor, my lover. I feel like I constantly, through no fault of my own, fail them. I feel like I should quarantine myself, go into a reclusive state again. It has only been a little over a month since I stopped being a total hermit. It was fun to be outside, to talk to people again, but makes me wonder if I am being fair to the people who choose to reach out to me. I even wonder if it is fair to write this and let it out of the prison that is my head so it will be free to wreck havoc on the outside.

I find myself constantly mentioning my illness to people when I meet them. (Sorry about that, FoodFest Folk) I think I feel the need to do so as a warning. The same way my parents would warn us about an animal who they knew we would kill for food or a pet we would have to give away. Don’t get too attached. This is what you are getting yourself into. I feel like a need a flashing neon warning sign over my head letting people know of the danger. Caution tape over my mouth.

Warning: Toxic.

I don’t feel comfortable letting people share that.

We will see what the new day brings.

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