Living in a Fantasy World

She's, come full circle
I'm, here at square one
She, can do what she wants
I, trying to do what she's done


Psychosis.

I've been manic and psychotic for about a week and a half. Trying to go to work and be "stable," what a joke. What the fuck is normal anyway? I hate that word. So loaded, but so empty. A false sense of safety? A false mainstream idea, an idealist vision of someone that you're not. I just remembered a whole bunch of things from my past while going through this episode. It was hecka funny. I laughed to myself the whole time at my desk. I must have looked like a lunatic. Some sort of clown. Who does that? What the fuck, man. Go relax; I need that. I need a good massage. I think my lymphatic system is de-toxing itself. I like to objectify. Put myself under the microscope and scrutinize. It's fun. It's dark. It's something different than my "Myth of Sisaphis" so-called life. Ha. Ha. Ha.

And, so, I don't know what to feel today. I feel lost inside, scared, and worried about the world around me. I feel to blame, I feel insecure, and I feel traumatized. I have a lot of problems. I can't solve them on my own. I need help in many ways. I aware of that. Now.

My self deprecating attitude is something that is contagious. Something that I can spread; some kind of "disease" in my mind, in my psychotic world. Some sort of fight that I go through. A battle. A war. Some low place, that I call home. A slow mix, a mileux, of the real and surreal. A merging of lives, a merging of dreams, nightmares, and fantasies. My fish tank is all I care about. My rasboras. They are two fish. They swim together, swirl round and round, always swimming separately, but in unison, somehow. A tit for tat sort of rhythm.

I saw my family this weekend. I saw my sister, her husband, and her daughters. They were so happy together. So full of life. So full of happiness. I wanted to keep them there. To keep there happiness, togetherness, and laughter in a bottle. And throw it out into the ocean for someone to catch, maybe a stranger. Maybe someone familiar. Someone take it home, and open it up:  laughter, joy, happiness bubbling together, swirling around, twisting, turning. But then, I wanted to wrap that bottle in bubble wrap and put it someplace, maybe under my bed. Hide it. Keep it safe.

I took pictures. Snapshots. Pictures of my family, of my apartment, of my new place by Lake Merritt.

What a weekend. Was it good? Was it bad? I don't know. It is what it is.