I suppose he has the right; he knows me as well as anyone on this becalmed planet does. He's seen me break before - he's one of the few who knows how possible and how devastating it is.
So is it better or worse, when it just means I get trashed for a night and then go on? Would you rather I break like I did before? I wouldn't. Now it's...controlled. Now I know that I can wait out the paranoid fantasies, the vivid imagery that comes to mind.
When I close my eyes at night, before I go to sleep, while I'm still waiting for my mind to stop racing through the events of the day, I see things behind them. I always have.
Last night, it was lilliputian savages dragging a dessicated corpse through underbrush, the flesh slowly falling away until it was just a skeleton held together by tendons and scraps of muscle. Except the eyes were still there. Maybe it's to make up for the other night, when I saw kittens with their eyes gouged out, waiting for me to feed them...and the milk in their bowls was blood.
More or less, they've almost ceased to disturb me. More or less, I just wait it out...and they go away.
I'm sure it means something. I'm sure that the violence of the images is directly correspondant to my particular state of tension. But I don't care. I have to get through this somehow, and once I do it'll be all right. I will get through it. I'll make it.
Tempered steel. Hardened in the forges of my own mind, my own self-doubt, my own inachievable standards. Has it made me stronger or just more brittle, more likely to despair?
And it's time for class once again. At least we only have classes this morning. This afternoon is cramming-time for (oh, fuck. printouts for Iwona! *fetches, prints*) the Medical Genetics final. I don't want to take any more exams...I can't wait for it to be monday after next. No exams for a whole 11 days.
And yes, Clarabear, I think I'll take a day off then.
And Jefe? Don't worry. I'll make it. I always do. (loves)