Rose Tinted Ghost

Everything I gaze upon today makes me feel terribly and awfully sad; my cheeks have been stained with burning tears for two days now and yet my tired eyes still water in the now bloodshot inner corners, I now feel like a lone stranger in my own home, I am here on my own now, left to deal with myself, yet I do not know who myself is, I feel things strongly; too strongly, so that now I cannot dare to face the outside, and so I am hiding amongst my books until I feel happier again.

My own mere world and existence is spinning; blurring so that I cannot make sense out of the mess before me. There are only three hundred and sixty five days to a year, yet it is passing too rapid and expeditious, I need more weeks and days and seconds. I need more moments. I need the moment to remember and consider; yet I cannot seem to capture the moments, as they were flowing away from me in a blur which was too transparent to bottle and store in one of my jam jars and place in my warehouse of a mind.

This is what I feel when the mean reds take hold.

“When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep, when I was supposed to speak, I was silent, when a pleasure offered itself to me, I avoided it. My hunger, my thirst, my loneliness and boredom and fear were all weapons aimed at my enemy, the world. They didn’t matter a whit to the world, of course, and they tormented me, but I got a gruesome satisfaction from my sufferings. They proved my existence. All my integrity seemed to lie in saying No.”

— Susanna Kaysen, Girl Interrupted