last buoy

i think they were onto something when they created padded rooms. there's times when the blood in my brain runs too hot and banging my head against a wall seems like the only way to get relief. on fire? tuck and roll. anxious? padded room. these solutions are primevally simple.

i know this makes me sound insane, but there are people out there who think homeopathy can cure mental illness (or anything else for that matter), so i could sound a lot worse. 

these days i am thinking a lot about how addiction is a derived problem. what i mean is that addiction is simply a coping mechanism for some original problem, like depression. i get what people mean when they say that addiction is a disease, but i think it's more the medicine. the medicine is poison of course, and it will kill you slowly, but if you're going to take it away, you need to replace it with more medicine. sometimes that's ayahuasca and a good spiritual beating; sometimes that's swapping one drug for antidepressants. pick your poison, as they say. 

i miss my grandma so much. i miss her in what i want to tell her, and i miss her in the things i would keep to myself. i don't need to beat my head against padded wallpaper. i just want to lay my head on her chest and listen to her humming and the loud chime of her bangles as she pats my back. her rocking back and forth is my lifeboat.  

Plato's concept of the two halves is a nice sentiment, but i've learned that love will not make me whole. this is because there's a part of me that belongs to my racing heart, sweaty palms, and the taste of nausea. there's a part of me that lives for destruction, and sometimes all of my energy is spent battening down the hatches. the storm cools my blood, and even the warmest of touches can't stand it. 

i want to be a better swimmer.

i want to be your last buoy in an endless ocean. just wait for the storm to roll out...