Synapses Collapse

When you know, you know. I'm in the know and it feels good. My brain is a pile of throbbing mush right now, seeing as I've spent this week beating it with my clinical chemistry text. I never use to have headaches until I jinxed myself by using a definitive. As it is, I can now increase blood pressure by depressing the vein that bulges from my temple. I'm confident about this mornings information regurgitating. I think it might have even raised my grade.

This entire week I've been boo-hooing about the excessive amounts of information I'm being forced to retain. Reference intervals are a bitch. We were pretty much tested on the inside cover of the book and other misc. tables then relate them to a disease or diagnose. Sometimes I feel like getting into my brain is a matter of popularity, some things make it. Others try and try but just won't get through the door. I just have three more things to do now. Take my hematology exam and the written part of the lab then professional practice and finish my writing intensive paper.

My relationship with my brain is comparable to an abusive marriage. I love my brain, I really do. I bring it things I know it'll like, like books (for pleasure) and other stimulus. I take it out to dinner and indulge it's cravings. I'd even massage it's feet if it had them. I love my brain deeply and these things I do, I do in it's benefit. I try to cultivate it as much as humanly possible. At times, even humanly impossible. I'm proud of my brain and I like to show it off... like a trophy wife. Then there are those nights where something else takes the reins and these compulsions override my love. I hurt my brain, knowingly, with chemicals and consensual insomnia.

Like I said, I'm equal parts altruistic and destructive. Is this something I understand? No. I don't think I'm qualified to go there. To reach some places in my cognition require exhaustive clearance. It's locked up so tight. It's been vacuum sealed. The pieces I've collected are only the impressions of shadows on the wall. I'm guessing in the dark and it's placed a sense of calm over me. At least I can accept these catch-22 I so often brand myself with.

I'm beginning to think I need to be stressed out. I'm beginning to think I'm the creator of this mental state I'm in. If not I, no one else. I'm just beginning to think.

H2S production

I decided I wanted to do a series. A-Z of things that float through my head. Memories that surface and resurface, some diving in the the deep to retrieve. I think I realized something today. I think I stumbled upon the source of my hostilities. I tripped over my eight year old self and skidded across the pavement of the next decade. The healing itches. I have so little to say, so much to do. Not doing what I should be but just wanting to drag scars across my skin. I feel like all my little wants, all my little needs are just sitting in this little petri dish I call my 22nd year of life. They divide and multiply, multiply and swarm in a tide of screaming ambition. There is so much I want to do! So much I need to experience! The fermentation of my desires are filling this space. I'm going to bust!

Or I just have to pee. 

I have a hematology lab and chemistry lab practical tomorrow. I'm ready...ish. One can never be too ready. I think I'll do fine. I'm not freaking out but I am procrastinating. I'm going to do it. 

The Spinner

Homemade sin and blood clots on a friday afternoon. I wear this mask wherever I go to conceal the intimate parts of my soul, that are so vulnerable to emotions vile depth. So I smile on, with solar emission bright while this fissure in my heart tears deep and sorrowful. I watched him from across the room, knowing what I know. Forcing myself to watch, I do not know why. I've practiced denial and I am no closer to perfect than the day I started to close my eyes. It stings like the tip of a needle borrowing into the soft interior of my tissue. I'll spell his name in collagen fillings on my skin and I'll try to forget there ever was a moment like this. 

Individual Devices

I can't admit to being anything else but a foolish girl. I'm still so young and so susceptible to folly's influence. A picture of my self hangs over my vision and it's me as I once was at three. In a red dress with white trim. I have white stockings. My eyes avoid the camera while my fingers keep themselves busy toying with ten fingernails. I bet they're dirty. Crisp evening air and cold night dew, I'm young and I know no better. It's in this fairy tale I've found residence. 

I'm looking for love. It's not behind the door or under the rug. But I know, I know, I know it's sitting in an obvious place. Like all the times I've lost my precious belongings. I'm looking in tall grass, I'm in over my head. I'm such a silly girl. 

Blue Tides

Just as quickly as they step out of the room does the inspiration to reflect on my life come over me. I try to assess the emotion behind budding thoughts, but it's hard to recognize what anything means in these times. The riot of thoughts reaches the exit in perfect synchrony, consequently nothing can breech this threshold. So that's my life, those are my thoughts. They swim around my mentality, sometimes smelling blood. Sometimes smelling of blood. The tide, mostly composed of a school of realizations, never make it to the meal. They are hungry, starving, and helpless. Completely helpless to the undertow of the majorities direction. A prisoner of the currents. A casualty of need.

The polarity of my person is, I swear it, a thousandfold. It's not that my mind's not made up...or it could be. Who really knows? Not I. Not my psychologist, since he is the one who is constantly asking ME questions. Look at me, do you think I know anything? For all the things I present to be, egotistical I am not. This is often mistaken for my want of solidarity. I don't think they understand, deep down inside I just want to hide. I'm the MVP of the hide and seek team. I'm visibly invisible. Half out of choice and the other out of fear. It's true, I'll admit it - I can be humble:

I'm so scared.