Esc

I'm afraid – don't ask me: of what. there is no reason; everything is the reason. silence, a glass of water, a broken conversation somewhere in the background – everything causes tension that I just can't stand any more. I'm scared. I look into faces, searching for understanding, searching for rescue, searching for warmth. I can hardly count the bottles I emptied trying successfully to make that feeling go away, that void, that panic when you cease to feel yourself, your will, your consciousness. I can't remember when last time finding peace was so difficult to me.
constantly I need feed, the permanent presence of those few people that are somewhere far away right now, out of touch, because the time has come to sit on your ass with your family, to eat like animals do, the holidays of church I don't even recognize. so they're not here – and I need them, their attention, the physical contact with them, their messages and their being by my side. when they disappear and when alcohol evaporates from my veins, the sharp silence falls on my mind and my body. I can't feed myself.

I don't think myself a parasite. it's scary, though, how I burden them with my misery. I'd give anything to take shelter in a warm body – although I know very well it won't change a thing – it will only make my disorder retreat a bit into the shadow, but not disappear completely – but just not to feel it for a while, that is: be able to believe for a moment that it's not there and what's real is the safety, the good smell, nothing more, the arm around me, the collarbone, the tummy, not even trying to make it mean more than it actually does, just this, so full and good
now
when it's not there.