>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: without subjects
>>Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2000

Oh, christ, I feel absolutely terrible. For some reason, I've been sliding downhill all day. I went to the grocery store with two friends earlier because I had been alone in my apartment for a long time, and the whole time I was out with them, I felt like I was imposing, like they had invited me along out of politeness because I wasn't really supposed to accept or something stupid like that, which is really dumb because it’s not like they gave me any sort of signs or anything that I wasn't welcome. They even invited me to eat with them, but they were cooking steak and having all sorts of nice food, and I didn't want to be in their way any more than I already was, so I declined. When I got back, I sat in my apartment again feeling like an enormous intrusion in everyone else's lives. The more I sat and brooded on it, the worse I felt until I got to this point where I realized if I didn't uncork then I'd explode because I just feel like dead weight in everyone's lives and all I do is strain their resources or make them worry unnecessarily about me when all I really want to do is fly under everybody's radar and kind of disappear from everyone's consciousness and become some sort of recluse. I've already decided that if I live to the age where I have to find some sort of long-term job, I'm going to do something like a night watchman where I don't have to deal with anyone at all and I don't have to do a lot of work and I'll still make enough money to live somewhere, though it may not be luxurious, as long as I have plenty to drink. Faulkner did it. He wrote several of his novels while performing his night watchman duties, but I don't want to live that long. I'm tired of being completely wracked by guilt all day long, and I'm tired of feeling so worthless and empty and wound up and anxious and exhausted and unwanted and unsure and self-conscious. I've torn up all of my nail beds from anxiety, and there's blood crusted on all my fingernails from digging the skin off my fingers with them. I'm scared to light a cigarette because I want to jam it into my arm or face or something and I have no idea what is happening to me, although I'll probably figure it out in hindsight.

I keep seeing something on the news about flights this month, and I'm scared that your flight will get canceled or something because that's the sort of thing that always happens to me when I really start to look forward to something. I’m terrified to start my paper because I don't have any idea what I’m going to write. I barely understand the question, and somehow I have to squeeze fifteen pages of shit out of my head for this guy when my last paper was dead wrong and somehow I got a B anyway. My classes are going to hell. My mind is going to hell. My body is going to hell. The only thing that looks presentable around me is my apartment because I cleaned it today so you wouldn't be grossed out when you saw it. I keep tying this blanket around my neck because I like the way it feels when I'm being choked off for some reason. I usually hate that feeling. Tomorrow is only Thursday. It seems like Friday will never come, even though I only have to wake up two more times until I'm there. That thought comforts me like I was saying that I only had to wake up two more times in my entire life, but if that were true, I'd go to sleep right now and set my alarm for midnight, sleep until morning, and then try to fall right back asleep. But I can't speed this up like that. In just under 48 hours, I will see you. I don't know what I'm going to do for the rest of the night because I still have an hour before South Park comes on, and I don't know if I have the attention to sit here that long, and when it does come on I don't know if I have the attention to watch it.

I fucking HATE being underage because I really need something to calm my nerves right now, and coke and cigarettes don't do it. I feel like I'm drowning, and I'm being forced to live through it. I've noticed that when I get really down I have a tendency to put my head in my hands like I can physically pull what's bothering me out through my forehead or something. I pull on my hair a lot, too, like that particular cover is just hiding this field of infestation below it, and if I can get rid of the cover, I can get rid of the problem. Have you ever wondered if you'd rather be blind or deaf? I'd most certainly rather be blind. I'm so tired of seeing everything that I wish I'd get up one morning and my eyelids will have fused together...idle speculation.

I guess I'll go and try to fool my brain into thinking time is really passing quickly. I don't know what I hope to accomplish by that. Perdita, you're all I have right now and I keep thinking that if I can make it to Friday, maybe I'll be okay at least for one weekend.

I love you.
Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: without subjects
>Date: Thu, 7 Dec 2000

Belacqua,

Okay, I really hate to gush, but I also really hate to keep things to myself these days because I figure people should know what I'm thinking when I think it or else they might never know. So, I have to gush for just a moment. Belacqua, I'm really glad you called last night. I feel almost guilty about this, but I really like feeling NEEDED. I know I have a lot to give (even if I'm not quite sure what it is), but people always make me feel like I'm bothering them with my problems when they have all their own sorts of problems, and they never come to ME with their problems because they can handle their problems on their own. Well, I think you and I CAN'T handle our problems on our own, and I don't really think we should HAVE to, anyway. We have more than just those stupid human bullshit problems that everyone else likes to compare to our illness. I don't ever want you to feel like you're intruding in MY life because hearing from you and knowing that I can be here for you makes me feel so much more useful than anything else in the world.

I have this constant battle with myself about my website because I put it out in the public as relief for myself. I mean, I want other people to be able to see it and learn from it and try to take some comfort in it if they're feeling similar things, but if I push that all aside, the fact remains that I put it there entirely for ME. When people e-mail me with questions or problems or whatever, there's nothing I want more than to be able to help them, but there's definitely a lot in it for me, too. It makes me feel useful. I can't decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing as far as how it's perceived by the rest of the world, though. I guess the point is that I think we can both get SO MUCH out of simply knowing each other and being able to talk to one another, and I don't EVER want you to feel like you're bothering me. If nothing else good ever comes out of my website, I'd still know that putting it on the web was a good idea simply because that's how I found you.

You know, I find myself always putting my head in my hands and pulling on my hair, too. When I do it, it's generally in an attempt to stop whatever's happening. I'll feel so much shit going on in my head, and I'll put my head in my hands in hopes that forcefully holding it still will just stop it from spinning out of control, but of course it doesn't help. It just makes me look crazy to all the people who walk by me when I'm sitting with my head in my hands on the steps in front of my building.

I hope you're feeling a little bit better today. Actually, I hope you're feeling a shitload better than you were yesterday. I feel a bit better, as things are pretty quiet at work so far and I finally made myself do laundry last night so I don't have to worry about it tonight. So, I can just go the fuck home after work tonight and wait for tomorrow to come. We only have to wake up one more time, and if the airline people go on strike, we'll just plot our revenge to kill them all.

I love you.
Perdita