Till human voices wake us

 Recently, I have started listening to My Chemical Romance, and one of my friends likes to comment on this incessantly. Here is the last conversation I had with him on this subject.

Him: But seriously, My Chemical Romance? They're so emo-

Me: Hypocrite.

Him: What?

Me: (Looks him in the eye) Nirvana, bitch.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ (WARNING- moderately depressing) ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A couple of weeks back, my family drove to San Francisco for the day and went to the beach. We brought kites and the dog and went down to this little cove and played around for a few hours.
It was San Francisco, so naturally it was extremely windy, which is perfect for kiting, but rather annoying if you have long hair like I do. But in one of my few moments of complete sight, I looked down at my shadow and saw my hair dancing around me, looking like some sea creature from the depths of the ocean, like the world had suddenly changed order, and the wind rushing in my ears had turned to water, and if I looked up, I would see fish swimming through the clouds and gulls soaring through the surf. And as this surreal image occupied my mind, I was reminded of the ending stanzas from T.S. Elliot's "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock"

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

  I do not think they will sing to me.

  I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

  We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

This is kind of what it's like to be bipolar. You have these moments of- not exactly happiness, per se, but optimism. Unconquerability. You feel this wave of triumph and hope wash over you. Then the human voices ring out, and it's like waking up into a nightmare. The human voices wake you, and you drown.

"And now it's time," the walrus said, "to talk of many things..."

I feel really helpless today. Yesterday was wonderful, I spent time with friends, I barely felt depressed, just a bit under the weather. But today...
I feel lethargic. I wrote a few poems, sketched a picture that I'm going to transfer to scratchboard, but all I want to do is sleep. I'm not even tired, I just want to not be awake.
One of my friends told me he loves me. I don't know what to do. He doesn't even know me that well.
I can't believe it's almost been a year. It feels so short, but at the same time, I can't believe it's just been a year.
One of my friends tried to kill herself.
Another one relapsed.
A third tried to take advantage of me.
A fourth has changed for the worse.
It's a nice day out. Rather warm. I think I might go outside and just lay down and look at the sky and exist. It's nice to do that sometimes. Exist. A lot of people mix up living and existing. Living is busy and complicated and loud. There's always something going on, but existing? Existing simply is. I'm quite happy with existing. It's just living that's the trouble.
I'm really excited for Tom Milsom's new album.
I don't think I've told you, but I have a lot of trouble showing emotions in my voice and facial features. I thought you might like to know.
I listened to Eddplant's most recent album. I liked the acoustic version of "Nothing to Worry About" better. It had a beautiful sort of simplicity that very few male artists have.
I didn't eat yesterday. Or today. I'm not that hungry.
I learned how to play "Hallelujah" on the ukulele. It sounds pretty.
I have recently started focusing on art a lot more. Both visual and auditory. I like Ron Mueck and Jaymay and Salvador Dali.
I like that I don't have to pretend here. I don't have to be happy all the time. I can be the fucked up person I am.
Maybe I'll put a few of my poems on here. They're not very good, but they're readable.
One of the most annoying things in the world is when people come up to me and say, "Are you okay?" and I'm like "Yeah, I'm fine." and they just give me this look of complete non-belief and incredulity and say "Are you sure?" and I'm thinking 'Dude, if I say I'm fine, then either A) I'm actually fine and you're just being insulting, or B) I'm not fine, but I don't want to talk about it and I really would prefer it if you left me alone,' but I can't say that, so I just smile and say "Yeah, I'm sure."
And I am fine.
I may not be okay, but I'm fine.

Please.

I need someone to be there. Please, talk to me. Why isn't anyone there? Why do I always have to be the one who listens to people? Why do I have to be the one who rubs their shoulders and listens to their tears? Why doesn't anybody ever help me? Why don't they listen? I need someone to tell me I'm wrong. I just relapsed and I'm freaking out and I can't do this anymore. There's so much blood and I don't know how I'm gonna hide it. My girlfriend left a month ago. I know why. Why can't I be pretty? Why can't I be thin? Why do I have to be so fucked up? Why can't I be happy? I need someone. I  need a hug. I need to not exist for a little while. Why won't anybody listen? I can't do this. I can't do this. Why do I even try? I'm going out of my fucking mind. Why won't you stop me?