I haven't slept. I feel… something along the lines of insanity. As I stare at my incongruent figure, I take a moment to regard how difficult I have made every aspect of my life whilst striving for perfection. I need to be more than this, what I see is a neurotic poser, and even if it is untrue, it is what I feel that matters. For my apathy is gone.
This isn't what it is like to be unhinged. I have been to psychiatric wards for my anorexia. I have seen downspiralling-batshit crazy in my life many times. You can take this information — that I was raised by a bipolar mother — as you will.
I did have premonitions of my psychosis. It crept up on me through anxiety unwinding into a steep hill of unbridled paranoia. That is how such hell inside of me came to be. I was always worried something catastrophic would strike me when I least expected it.
So it did.
I am heartbroken over the end of my musical career. I drink throughout the day to deal with the deep disappointment. The bitter taste of whiskey has never felt so comforting. I haven't eaten a thing, because I fear gaining weight, even though I'm technically no longer stage bound. I am met by tears and loud cries that I must quiet by closing my throat.
I fucked up. I–
"There is someone at the door for you." Adam is standing in the guestroom doorway. "I'll let them know it's a bad time."
"No," I say. "It's nothing."
My tone is so convincingly stoic I could win an Oscar. He walks me downstairs. I am met by someone familiar. Someone who insisted I was effed in the head just last night.
I look at him, up and down, and smirk.
"I didn't steal anything from your house."
"You know why I'm here."
I stare at him and begin laughing hysterically.
"Seriously." I remark, at the look that doesn't suit his personality, a domineering yet warm-hearted male. Who does meth. "What can I do for you?"
He looks down before meeting my eyes.
"You can explain to me why I believe you."
Oh. I thought he wasn't listening when I profusely apologized for my behaviour under Jane's roof, which included informing him I thought she was a zombie. I also told him I had seen one in an alley while leaving a club, where I did numerous drugs that night. I swore it was either a premonition of the future or instant confirmation they were already here. That, perhaps, the government placed one in the streets and aborted the idea of scaring the people right after I saw it. Because no one else did.
I giggle in response before saying, "You obviously haven't heard of the side effects of methamphetamine."
"Amy, if you could just–"
"See ya around, Josh." I close the door, expecting him to knock. He walks away instead.
That insanity I mentioned earlier returns, washing over me. Uncontrollable emotions come to fruition. I fall to the floor crying, reminded what a freak I am.
—
I never had the best of luck with boys in my teens, or men later on. It was true that they only wanted one thing, despite all I had to offer. Eventually I became a non fuck-giving hedonist, and never looked back. But before that?
My pure heart got stepped on.
My first boyfriend, Rick, took me for a bimbo. His motive for dating me was to convince me to have a threesome with his buddies. When I declined, he started speaking to me less. Not a word from him, by the time he found someone else. My opinions, my art, my passions — they didn't matter to any male I got involved with.
It was always the same old song and dance. Never had I been cherished. And it showed a lot in future times. The stars above me couldn't speak louder.