I know which would be healthier. Did I write about the electro final? It was torture, I had a terrible panic attack during and after. It finally ended hours later when I carved "CHAOS" into my stomach with a knife. The knife was dull, so it was almost invisible in a few weeks. But moments after the jagged S had beaded blood on my abdomen I started laughing. How could I have taken it all so seriously? Didn't I ever want to get laid? No crop tops for the first few weeks of summer, missy. What a choice.
Not that there wasn't any damage done. I definitely said fuck it to the quantum final. Imagine if I had counted the tears. Maybe next time they break my heart I'll get a bucket and fill it with salt and water and blood that I buy from Ottos and I'll stand in the breezeway and poor it over my head and say "At least this time it didn't come from my body."
Or I'll just give them a receipt. Excuse me, physics department, but I have had to use a lot of my own blood and salt to write this thesis and I have bought some replacements, please send the check to mailstop 1011.
Um. I realize this sounds a lot darker than I expected it to. I'm not saying I don't need therapy, but I'm saying that these would be melodramatic things that would make me laugh because the feelings that back them up are really so thin. It's the best way to shred the veil of sadness over my life though. I embrace it, and then feel how hollow the thing that I have just held in my arms actually is.
I did the same with Edith. I wrote this new version of Benzos last night (between the hours of 12:30 and 2:30 am) that is so dramatic and exaggerated. It helped.
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