I feel like I'm playing chess underwater. The pieces keep floating away. I don't know where things are. I can't figure out tomorrow.
-- Jerry Spinelli, American author

My head spins. I can’t think straight. Have you ever tried playing chess underwater? Diphenhydramine keeps me there. It’s not even cold or hot. It’s nothing. It’s unfeeling.

I’ve been watching a lot of true crime/murder documentaries lately, just to know those dark feelings are real. It keeps me grounded almost. Is that odd? I can’t tell anymore.

I feel like I’m washed up on shore and no one has found me yet. There’s a storm coming, but it feels like it’s constantly off in the distance. Sometimes it’s almost worse, waiting for the storm. I’d rather just endure, instead of this constant limbo. I crave to feel. Feeling nothing is the enemy.

As you could probably figure out because you’re not oblivious, I’ve been sick lately. IV antibiotics course through my veins. It’s not even the darkest times. It’s just sort of, a medium time.

I wish I was smarter. I feel like everyone else around me is so intellectual and erudite, and perceptive to their surroundings, and I feel so inferior. I think that’s why I enjoy watching true crime because I learn how to access situations objectively when my inner nature veers towards subjectivity. I’m also so egocentric. There I go talking about myself again when I’m trying to learn to perceive other things around me. And the ironic thing is, I abhor narcissism. I’m a walking oxymoron.

I’m supposed to be working, but I’m not, because my brain keeps me stagnant. My heart keeps beating, so that’s good, even though sometimes it feels like it’s not.

Silence is often the best cure, but I don’t understand it. I apologize for my melodrama.

I should be above ground. Yet, I am still underwater.

-memento mori