a new hollowness

my current med cocktail. I cannot eat but am drinking copious amounts of water. I crave sugar. The Dunkin Donuts closed store in metaxa street is singing a Siren Song to me.Thank god they closed it.i dont like the new store, but i dont care right now.

Lithium is being raised to 3100 mg, Cymbalta is staying the same at 60 mg. If the lithium doesn't start working soon, I will be weaned off it and go on Lamictal. All I know is it took every ounce of effort to get there this afternoon, to get dressed, brush my teeth and drive the two km to get to the spot. Climb . I am winded like I was in my childhood when I had asthma.

All I know is I am in crisis. My brain knows this. My mind and my soul know this. Life hurts and every breath I take makes me feel like a medieval torture devise of being crushed or weighted to death in the Tower or some other gloomy place. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. But surprisingly, I am not suicidal. I just don't care- I just want to go to sleep and wake up as worm bait.

Raising the lithium, with the Cymbalta, now- it's not passive anymore. it's active. But not active like it was when I was on Remeron and got so suicidal I knew to get to the hospital pronto. It's different this time, but isn't every depression slightly different, like identical twins are never really totally identical?

I find it more violent, the ways I want to go out would give Stephen King a new novel and a literary hard on. It would make Jeffrey Dahmer a new recipe for madness. No OD'ing on pills and slipping gently into that good night. These are painful, horrible, dreamscapes and nightmares from a fevered mind sparked from neurons and gray cells not reacting or over reacting to chemical number 3 on the Periodic Table.I loved to move , but right now it s not safe for me to be alone there.

I hover between periods of sanity and insanity- wondering to go into the hospital and make arrangements for the striped baby girl, or just going to ikea, buying a few items, and going out one night in the parking lot when everyone is home and asleep and ending it all, the last moment of consciousness dialing 100 and telling the cops to seal off the parking lot.

Right now I can hover. I am scared I might slip. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but hopefully not soon.

Yay, so this is the story i would put on for a fall editorial. good script. i so crave a Pulitzer right now. And depression period is so creative.yay. 

the rebel's girl object of desire

im taking a tailored dress downtown with bare legs,hard ankle boots, a tough cough and a small bag.I am saying hello to the new heels and yesh to the new fierce boots. I am embracing the new chloe. My concept is based on a seventies luxury hotel and breathed an atmosphere of sex drugs and rock n roll. Hotel floor littered with red pumps, black men's shoes, sexy pink lingerie , a full ashtray , a fallen over wine glass , lipstick, a small mirror. Definitely melancholic and depressed with a i dumped you note in hand, looking outside the window totally blanc, with tears in my eyes and wearing the bow-detailed assymetric silk top by chloe and a topshop undergarment slip.oh yesh, if im going to take me down i ll take me in high end fashion.

  ouch.

post modern sleaze please

i wish to live until 150 yrs old but the day i ll die i wish it to b with a cigarillio in one hand and a coconut in the other

 

(stella mcCartney underwear , wifebeater , Darling 18-karat gold ring solange azagury-partridge)

hanging out at the shark and played cards

you cut her hair

so im going on with a dark period and depression, i thought about doing a project about Auschwitz. The nazis used to cut the women's hair so they won't be smelling while burning. Mcrae sang about it and Meisel made an editorial for Italian Vogue.

Darlin' I had the best intentions

u just didn't pay attention. sorry .oh and fuck the interview magazine, andy warhol wouldn't approve that.