ambient-anemoia - Tumblr blog

[ambient-anemoia]

disillusioned (MAJOR CW)

( leaving my usual tags off of this and putting it under a read more because the content is extremely upsetting, check tags for specific content warnings )

i used to think i was ascending to nirvana.

falling into the stars, i called it: that ecstasy-inducing moment where i lurch back from the brink of unconsciousness, all the blood and oxygen rushing to my head at once, white dots swimming across my vision as i remember what it feels like to breathe again.

i hurt myself badly, i think. sometimes i wonder if all the oxygen i starved from my brain caused permanent damage. sometimes i consider seeing a doctor but something stops me every time. i think a part of me still hopes that one day i'll fuck up badly enough that i never have to worry about any of this ever again. maybe i already have.

my neck is killing me.

there's a weird feeling in the back of my throat, like someone reached in with a paintbrush and flicked a stripe of brightly coloured liquid over the surface of my windpipe. i can feel the fluid lingering there, obtrusive and stubbornly refusing to dry. i can taste something but i don't know what it is. metal? plastic? paint? it is unpleasant and it is unnerving.

people don't talk about this.

i looked it up earlier, the source of that mysterious flavour, but no one had any answers for me.

there are plenty of websites offering resources if someone else did this to you, and plenty more offering resources if you did it to yourself. there are fetish sites, and scientific studies, and medical reports. i used to look at the pictures in the reports, desperately clawing at my own neck hoping to see rope burns and petechiae, visible tangible proof of my own suffering. i never saw any. fifty percent of strangling incidents do not leave visible marks. i read through all the websites.

plenty of people talk about strangulation. but they do not talk about this. the unpleasant flavour in the back of the throat, the nausea rising and falling in the stomach, the pain in the carotid arteries as if the neck is being held in a vice long after you take down the rope.

i don't feel good anymore. i keep chasing that high, but i don't fall into the stars anymore, i just fall into my arms and there's no ecstasy waiting for me there. just the warm fabric of my hoodie sleeves and a feeling of mild disappointment. the catharsis never comes.

[ambient-anemoia]

blanket stitch

there you are, tugging away at the hem of my sanity unravelling my mind thread by thread you hover in my peripheral your judgement pierces my chest i want you to leave me but you're tangled up in knots i can't let you go i can't let you go take a pair of fabric scissors to my eye go on i dare you i promise i'll take it like a man i'm too much of a coward to forget you but a little bit of pain is never too hard to handle you and me were cut from the same cloth, we're terrible i'm terrible i made you some tomato and basil soup eat it while it's hot ok? i can't make up for what i've done but i can make you soup and beg you to stay another five minutes, another five minutes

[ambient-anemoia]

Fabricated World

Brothers

I took a photo of the four of you by the water. You were smiling, even Lovino who is normally so surly. We sat by the pool in the scorching heat of the Greek summer, walked through the narrow alleyways of the old town, gazed up past rows of candy-coloured houses to see the island monastery, the one dedicated to my angel. One day we were walking home from a restaurant, the sky turning from deep blue to burnt sienna as day slipped into dusk. There were cats, wild ones, roaming the streets, and Lovino's hand was clasped firmly in mine as we chased them. We locked eyes for a moment, his gold with my blue, and for that moment everything was alright.

Sol

We raced one another through golden fields, laughing under blue skies as the spring breeze sent our hair flying out behind us. You led me beneath the cool shade of trees, deep into the forest where few had been before. We dipped under yellow caution tape and gazed into the forbidden abyss, an abandoned archaeological dig perhaps, or some sort of unfinished construction work, we didn't know. Your hair was so pretty, long and blonde like the sheafs of wheat in the fields we knew so well. I loved running my fingers through it, feeling each silky soft strand as it slipped across my skin. Your name is fitting, because you were always so bright, shining even in pure darkness. Whenever I was sad I thought of you, and for a moment everything would be alright.

Jack

I remember the first time I told you I loved you. Perhaps I had said it before, I don't know, but this was the first time I really meant it. It was whispered into the crook of your neck, then spoken louder as I got used to the feel of it coming from my lips. We didn't last long, only a year and ten months, but it felt like eternity to me back then. Do you remember when we sat side by side on that rooftop on Valentine's Day, and I sang that Paramore song to you? I think, even after all this time, I'm still into you. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm still in love with you. But sometimes, on dark and lonely nights, I remember sitting next to you on the branch of a tree in your back garden in the height of summer, the feel of your cool palm pressed against my warm one, Sufjan Stevens' soft voice echoing through our shared earbuds as we flicked through the pages of a familiar book, and in those moments it's so easy to ignore all of the negatives, to believe that when we were together everything really was alright.

R

I don't even know where to begin with you. God, you're indescribable. Or maybe it's not that I can't describe you, but that I don't want to. I want to keep everything about you a secret: your name, your face, the memories we shared. But at the same time I want people to know. After all, if you only exist in my head then do you even exist at all? I really want to believe you exist. You can't have lived in my head rent free for half a decade if you don't exist. So many of my most precious memories are intertwined with you. Do you remember the first time we fought? You had me pressed into the dirt, an open wound gaping on my chest where you had stabbed me with a sharp stick. My brothers saved me that time, but I didn't want to be saved from you. We fought a lot, didn't we? I wonder when I stopped fighting back. I wonder when you stopped fighting back. We had some good times, we must have done. Sitting on those marble steps at sunrise, snapping pictures on a crisp winter afternoon with my new Polaroid, holding each other tightly in that lake on Halloween. But there were so many bad times. Most of them were caused by me, weren't they? I love you, but I hurt you. I love Sara, but I hurt her. You love me, but I hurt myself. Pain, pain, pain. Our relationship was built on pain, and will collapse from pain as well, I'm sure of it. Is that love? Is anything love? I apologised before for what happened that summer, I know you heard it and I know you didn't accept it. And yet you're still here nearly a year later, sitting right beside me as I write this (I'm glad you haven't looked over my shoulder yet, I don't know if you'd like what you see). That's my fault, I know. If you really existed you would have left me a long time ago. But you live in my head, and that's not something you can escape from easily. I'm sorry I can't stop thinking about you. I'm sorry I keep on hurting you, over and over. I'm sorry you're not real.

When I finish writing this, I'll switch my phone off and bury my face in the crook of your neck. You'll tell me to get on with my work which I was supposed to start hours ago, and we'll bicker for a while. Your eyes will meet mine, black and blue, and I'll wonder (foolishly, because I already know the answer) if this is alright.

[ambient-anemoia]

maybe i really died in november

and this is my purgatory,

this endless sea of nothingness.

apathy, disdain, the occasional bout of terror

do nothing to alleviate this emptiness,

this inner and outer darkness.

winter, i was burning,

spring, i was drowning,

summer, i was nothing at all.

[ambient-anemoia]

life comes in little silver packages i pick up from the pharmacy every month. each day i peel back the foil reverently, then lift out the little white container carrying all of my hopes and dreams. i hold it carefully between my finger and my thumb, knowing i die if i lose this. i place life on my tongue and swallow it down with a gulp of water. the dose goes up and up, but i barely even register it. my daily ritual keeps me alive, but it does not make me happy. all the same, i swallow down life day after day after day, because i do not want to die.

[ambient-anemoia]

bathroom floor

it's safe here, quiet

the door's locked, they can't get you

stay a bit longer

[ambient-anemoia]

i

shadow

wraith

echo

waste of space

monster

god

bastard

ripped up face

stupid

fool

naive

too much grace

empty

void

nothing

not a trace

[ambient-anemoia]

end of the world (don't let go)

this is the apocalypse.

the world's on fire, and the people are at each other's throats, and i'm hanging from a rope

with your hands wrapped around my legs.

i'm looking down at you, and your eyes are so bright, so wet, and i'm glad it's your hands which are to decide my fate.

this is revelation.

the world is enveloped with light once again, and the people receive judgement, and i'm hanging in the air

with your hands holding me back from despair.

you're looking at up me, and you adore me, despise me, and you're my last remaining tie to the earth.

[ambient-anemoia]

blue (haiku)

give me one more chance.

i won't run away this time

when my face turns blue.

[ambient-anemoia]

Daily Life (long)

(TW- intrusive thoughts, internal fatphobia, suicidal ideation, implied depression, dermatillomania)

.

.

.

Wake up.

Your alarm is blaring in your ears, the song you chose because it sounded peaceful only irritates you now.

Your eyes are heavy.

Reach for your phone. That's it, in the drawer.

Wait for the screen to light up. Type in the passcode. Force yourself to scroll and scroll until the fog in your brain has lifted somewhat.

Check the time.

You're almost late for your first lecture of the day. Idiot. Why the hell did you spend so much time on your phone?

Get dressed in a blur. Stupid piece of shit.

Run to your lecture. Almost miss it because your fat lazy ass can barely drag itself to the lecture theatre without you running out of breath.

Sit down and open your laptop. Type in the passcode. It isn't the same as your phone passcode, don't make that mistake again.

Open a Word doc. You don't even know what this lecture is about. Wait for the lecturer to tell you the name, then write it down.

Make notes. Space out and lose track of what the lecturer is saying. Or maybe they weren't saying anything to begin with. Their words have melted into mush.

Stupid. Everyone else has such detailed notes. What the hell did you write? A bunch of gibberish you're not going to understand when you look back at it later. You don't even understand it now, how do you expect this to help you in the exam?

Put your laptop away, dumbass. You have another lecture in 5 minutes and you need to get your ass over to the other lecture hall.

Avoid everyone's gazes as you walk by. They're all staring at you, wondering how such an ugly stupid asshole managed to weasel his way in to this place. They think your outfit is disgusting. The red of your dress really brings out the sores on your face.

Sit through the next lecture, don't pay attention as usual. Of course you can't even get something as simple as sitting in a room and listening to someone speak right. Fucking failure.

Go back to your room. It's disgusting in here. You know they do random inspections, don't you? What are they going to say when they see the dirty dishes piled up on the desk from days ago, the laundry scattered all over the floor, the crumbs covering your bed and carpet? You're going to get kicked out.

Pick up one plate and take it to the kitchen. Wash it.

Open your cupboard and take out the bread. It's mouldy. That's because you couldn't be bothered to buy more. You lazy piece of garbage.

Throw the bread away. What's in the cupboard?

Cereal bars. That's right, you didn't have breakfast this morning. Idiot.

There is a can of spaghetti hoops. Your last can, because yet again you couldn't be arsed to buy more food.

Put it in a bowl and microwave it. What the hell kind of meal is this? This isn't nutritious. You can't even feed yourself right. So pathetic.

Go back to your room. Don't drop the bowl just because it's hot. More dirt is seeping in through the uncovered top the longer you take to get back.

Eat the spaghetti hoops. You're still hungry.

There are crackers and biscuits on the shelf.

Take three crackers and three biscuits. Stuff your face you greedy pig. Fucking degenerate. You're sickening.

It's only lunch time? You already want to crawl back into bed and never get out. But that deadline is getting even closer, did you forget? Of course you wasted the last couple of days so you haven't even started the work yet. Put those snacks down and get to the library.

Walk straight into the bathroom instead. The mirror looms before you.

Hunch in front of it until your limbs and back and neck are contorted at strange angles.

You're sick. You're disgusting. You're pathetic.

Your face is like a newspaper. You're probably too stupid to understand the joke.

Wipe off the red with your greasy fingers, don't even bother washing them. They'll just get red again later.

How long has it been? Glance at the time on your phone. Half an hour you could have spent working has gone. What the hell is wrong with you?

You have a notification.

Click it.

Check the time. It's been 2 hours.

What were you doing again?

You need to go to the library.

Gather your things. Head to the door.

Have you got everything?

Go back to your room.

Pick up the things you forgot. You do this every day and you're still forgetting things. Useless.

Leave.

Sit down in the library in your favourite seat, the one where the reflection in the window makes the bookshelves look like they're covered in leaves.

Stare at the leafy bookshelves. Lose yourself in your imagination.

Look back at your laptop screen, at the blank Word doc you don't remember opening.

Essay. You're supposed to be writing an essay.

What is the question? You haven't done the reading yet. It's getting closer and closer to the deadline every second that you delay.

Type out a measly 200 words.

The library is closing in 10 minutes. It's been four fucking hours, how the hell have you done so little work?

Go back to your room.

It's time for dinner.

Check your phone.

Look at the time.

It's been 2 hours.

Go to the kitchen.

You still haven't bought any more food.

Go back to your room.

Eat crackers and biscuits, as many as you can stuff down your gullet.

You're still hungry. Greedy bastard. Think about how much fat you just piled onto your body. You're already a disgusting blob of fat, imagine how much worse you'll look now? Ugly. Fatass. Pig.

You need to work.

Go on your phone.

You need to shower.

Go to the bathroom and rip your face to shreds.

It's too late to shower now. Go back to your room.

Time for bed.

Go on your phone.

Check the time.

3am.

Check your timetable.

You have a lecture in 6 hours.

Go on your phone.

Find the will to turn it off after another half an hour.

You're hungry.

Eat another cracker. You're such a fucking mess.

Time to fucking sleep.

Close your fucking eyes.

See him.

Remember what you did.

I hope the guilt haunts you for the rest of your life. You sick bastard. You're a monster. You don't even qualify to be human.

You should die.

Stop daydreaming.

Fall asleep.

[ambient-anemoia]

introspection

(tw decomposition, mild gore?, insects)

i'm full of black mould.

my twisted, broken body

is beyond human.

rotten to the core.

wasted, wretched, worthless wreck

abandoned by God.

organs stuffed with worms

and maggots. you sick monster.

hurry, burn in hell.

[ambient-anemoia]

how can three short lines

collected five seven five

carry the heart’s weight?

[ambient-anemoia]

third floor balcony

across the hall

can't be seen

quiet walk

up the step

try the door

locked again

delayed the fall

[ambient-anemoia]

isn't it sad that the universe we once saw as somewhere warm, bright and full of music, we now see as cold, dark and silent?

[ambient-anemoia]

fall (haiku)

the rope slips free and

i'm falling into the stars

smacking the floor hard.

[ambient-anemoia]

it's a shame that we're not soulmates

'cause if i didn't know better i'd say this feels pretty good

and how could i be scared

when i stretch and feel you're there?

- I Exist I Exist I Exist, flatsound

[ambient-anemoia]

not real

(tw- derealisation, suicidal ideation)

reality slips away in a bedroom before dinner, in the gap between leaving her downstairs and returning. there is a pressure in my chest growing steadily stronger, drowning out my surroundings until there is nothing left but static. my body twists and curls up into a ball like it did before i was born, when all i knew was darkness and warmth.

my knuckles are white where they grip my shirt. i can't see outside of this bed, a little rectangle of safety in the vast sea of shifting shadows and muted sounds i am submerged in. i hear a raspy voice whispering over and over like a broken record, repeating the words as if they're a substitute for breathing.

'not real not real not real'

it takes a moment for me to realise the voice is coming from my own cracked lips, sore from where i've been tugging at them for the past several days. i can taste metal.

below me, hovering in the ocean of static like a life buoy, is my one saving grace. my eyes fix on it across the chasm between us. if i can just grab hold of it, feel the soft fabric brush against my fingers, tighten against my neck, it will all be alright.

where the hell am i, what the fuck is happening, am i dying? no, death is salvation and i am not worthy. my brain is melting. reality has abandoned me, i'm floating in a void of my own creation, unable to move, unable to breathe. i'm hyperventilating. please make it stop, make it end, i want to go home now, i want to be with them...

and of course it does end, with me on the wrong side of reality once again, gasping and shivering and horrified and yearning. still here. still real. still unending

.

when i leave the safety and comfort of my dreams and stare out of the window i become aware of my existence and i tremble because i am afraid it will never end