That ever happen to you? Scary shit. You go to log in and you see this list of names you only barely recognise and none of them feel right.
Then you put your glasses on or you remember and you can deal with yourself again, however ineffectually you were managing that before.
So I've been under self-imposed house arrest for about three days now. And god, how my sanity has suffered for it.
But I can't leave the house because...
...I haven't done all my laundry, haven't cleaned my room, haven't put all my clothes away, haven't cleaned the catbox, haven't done my homework, haven't made up the work I've missed, haven't done all the projects, haven't thought up a good enough excuse yet, haven't slept enough [properly, at least], haven't taken my meds, haven't remembered everything yet, haven't charged my phone, haven't finished that last roll of film, haven't gotten rid of my headache, haven't cried enough, haven't changed clothes, haven't eaten properly, haven't found my contacts, haven't brushed my hair, haven't checked my grades, haven't set up that account, haven't checked those webcomics, haven't finished those episodes, haven't figured out when the next meeting is, haven't talked to my therapist, haven't let the drugs work, haven't healed that scar, haven't bought those homecoming tickets, haven't felt 'better', haven't been fixed, haven't figured things out yet, haven't done anything right, haven't done what I was supposed to, haven't listened to my mother, haven't killed myself yet, haven't written enough, haven't organised those, haven't hurt enough, haven't understood, haven't showered, haven't choked down those bloody herbs, haven't looked after the neighbors cats, haven't gone to bed when I should've, haven't talked to anyone I'm supposed to, haven't done anything at all productive, haven't picked up my socks, haven't killed that BLOODY DAMN SPIDER ENOUGH TIMES, haven't stopped shaking, haven't stopped thinking, I haven't--
...I haven't done much of anything, really.
Can Stockholm Syndrome still occur when the captor is your own mind?
...And would that really be so bad?
Fighting it all the time certainly isn't getting anywhere but lying in the dark in the fetal position sobbing on a bed that isn't even yours, it's in the guest bedroom so no one will hear and you're smothering yourself with a pillow because you know you aren't supposed to feel this way without a reason so it mustmustmust be your fault, you are weak and you've let demons in under the guise of emotions, or maybe they are one and the same and the others, the ones who told you to let them out, well they were lying or more likely they didn't fathom exactly the depth and the magnitude of the darkness now swallowing your core and they were probably right to call you insane, right to want to put you away because you are nothing, nothing, nothing but a pulsing distant light and now it's gone.
I swear I've killed the same spider twice today. Last night it was crawling around, hideous and large as a raspberry, and I panicked like it was the end of the world because, well, it WAS, and after I managed to find something heavy to squash it and the white hot fear subsided, I was pretty okay as long as I didn't go near it or something, the textbook was right there on top of it. But then tonight I see my mother's moved the book and I am TERRIFIED, and then I see its awful spider body poised a foot from where it had supposedly met its end and I couldn't think again and I found the Hannukah tile I'd made at church when I was a girl and I dropped it on top of it and now if it isn't still dead tomorrow I will stick my head in the oven, I SWEAR.
...That's what I sound like after three days of being trapped inside my head, with minimal breaks and enough guilt to stock a crusade.
Yes, I am terribly mentally ill.
Yes, I will understand if you no longer choose to associate with me.
I of all people understand that my mind can be a dark. Fucking. Scary. Place.
And no one else should have to put up with that.
Least of all you.