Listen . . . May 23, 2003 (Stew)

 
I’m kind of down right now. It’s 10:30 at night, and the people in the apartment upstairs are having a party it sounds like. It’s times like this, when there’s a muffling of voices and music and stomping that I can’t tell where my thoughts end and the reality of their party begins. I don’t really hear their music as much as I feel it vibrating through my being. I don’t hear their voices as much as I hear mufflings that I confuse with the voices I already hear. It’s times like this when the anxiety reaches a more frenzied state, and that cutting really becomes a viable alternative.

I’m kicking myself for not being strong enough to go up there and ask them to turn it down a hair. I rationalize, “Oh, it’ll probably be only a little while longer.” Or, “it’s so loud, they probably won’t hear me knock.” Or, “I’ll be asleep in a few minutes anyway, so it’s no skin off my nose.” But the thumping of the bass and the laughter is getting louder. And my head is thumping harder and harder. And it’s rattling the fan above the stove.

And I wonder if it’s jealousy. Maybe I’m jealous because I wasn’t invited to a party. And if I was invited, I probably wouldn’t go anyway because the noise and people would make me feel uncomfortable. Such a state of contradiction I live in.

How come people can’t close the doors softly? How come it must always be with a slam? How come it’s always people upstairs who are the noisy ones? Why is it me who is always persecuted like this? Why am I feeling sorry for myself now? It’s so hard to concentrate with all of this noise, both real and imaginary. And to think there are some people who actually think I’ve accomplished a lot in my 32 years. What dunderheads. If only they knew just how little I’ve actually done, they wouldn’t be that amazed.

I didn’t think the music could get any louder but it just has. If I was playing a stereo in my own apartment, I wouldn’t be able to hear it this well. Sounds like there’s about thirty people up there. And I know they have the same floor plan as mine, so I have no idea where they would put thirty people.

Okay the anxiety has just crept past the boiling point. I’m going to go get my knife….Seven new cuts, all on my left arm and hand this time. I took the big knife this time, washed it in hot water and soap, used my lighter to heat the knife up, and then bounced the blade on the arm a couple of times… and then… slice. It’s cool how the blood doesn’t immediately appear. What’s weird is that it hurt more today then it normally does. Usually I feel some type of sensation when I cut, not something I would describe as pain, but some type of sensation. This time it felt more like the skin was being ripped then cut. Probably time to sharpen my blades.

And wouldn’t you know it, I was right. The party ended about five minutes after I cut. Talk about your dunderheads.