![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Today, at work, I feel as if a tiny little monster with multiple claws has grown inside me, clawing at my insides, pulling them out, bit by bit, in spatterings and spottings of blood. At the end of the day, on the subway, I decide Alien must have been written by a woman.
With the clawing comes the insistent irritability and cravings for things I can't quite grasp. I want to climb out of my skin or better yet crawl into the recesses of my mind, escape my life and its tangle of disappointments and/or mundane worries. And therein or rather within that dull emotional and physical pain - lies the craving for distraction, release. Some people use alcohol, some cigarettes, some sex. For me, ah, it's always some cultural obsession, fictional character, book, tv show. And trust me, obsession is the best word for it.
While some may embrace their obsessions. I wrestle with mine. Spit at them. Scream and rail. Despise them. Until one of us gives in. You see, I hate losing control of myself. Hate surrendering to outside forces. No matter how drunk I've gotten, how doped up, part of me was always in control. Part of me always fights it. Except when it comes to cultural mental obsessions and this bizarre craving to vent or discuss them, worse defend the bloody things (which can get nasty) - I lose control - well not complete control, just enough to unnerve me and make me hate myself. Not sure why I lose control in these instances and not the other ones - maybe because they are primarily cereberal? Not physical? Preoccupies a part of the mind - so it can't just flip it off? In this particular case, I'd thought the current obsession left me. That I was blessedly free. But oh no, it's back again, like a bad headache, which ahem you probably figured out on your own if you've been reading my journal lately. In fact if you really want to - you can actually track its progress back into my head. Then again, maybe not.
Not sure why it's back. But it is. And I want it to go away, damn it. The fucking thing embarrasses me. I hate it. I should have seen the signs, should have put a stop to it. Not given in. But now, may be too late, damn thing has a hold and it won't bloody let go.
Ugh. Should never have bought those DVDs.
With the clawing comes the insistent irritability and cravings for things I can't quite grasp. I want to climb out of my skin or better yet crawl into the recesses of my mind, escape my life and its tangle of disappointments and/or mundane worries. And therein or rather within that dull emotional and physical pain - lies the craving for distraction, release. Some people use alcohol, some cigarettes, some sex. For me, ah, it's always some cultural obsession, fictional character, book, tv show. And trust me, obsession is the best word for it.
While some may embrace their obsessions. I wrestle with mine. Spit at them. Scream and rail. Despise them. Until one of us gives in. You see, I hate losing control of myself. Hate surrendering to outside forces. No matter how drunk I've gotten, how doped up, part of me was always in control. Part of me always fights it. Except when it comes to cultural mental obsessions and this bizarre craving to vent or discuss them, worse defend the bloody things (which can get nasty) - I lose control - well not complete control, just enough to unnerve me and make me hate myself. Not sure why I lose control in these instances and not the other ones - maybe because they are primarily cereberal? Not physical? Preoccupies a part of the mind - so it can't just flip it off? In this particular case, I'd thought the current obsession left me. That I was blessedly free. But oh no, it's back again, like a bad headache, which ahem you probably figured out on your own if you've been reading my journal lately. In fact if you really want to - you can actually track its progress back into my head. Then again, maybe not.
Not sure why it's back. But it is. And I want it to go away, damn it. The fucking thing embarrasses me. I hate it. I should have seen the signs, should have put a stop to it. Not given in. But now, may be too late, damn thing has a hold and it won't bloody let go.
Ugh. Should never have bought those DVDs.