Train of Thought

There’s a freight train in my mind, reverberating thoughts so encapsulating it’s hard to remember experiencing anything else. Flagrant disdain to an apathy I wish would stick around long enough for the train to shut up. 

Will I be able to get things done today? Am I a piece of shit or aren’t I? I wish my version of depression were served cold. If I really didn’t care, I wouldn’t be asking these questions. 

“If I can’t do my work then I must be lazy. And a lazy person does not deserve this job or any job for that matter. What will be my calculated response be when they let me go? Of course I’d feign surprise and with a stupid smile, masking all my self-hatred and anger, politely walk away, like I always do.”.

The ambivalence agitates, making the pull toward my vices so apparently there. Driving around to smoke another cigarette. Picking at my skin to keep awake. A glass or five to fall asleep. I belong to the things I crave. The itch I can never reach. —Why did I smoke? If I keep relapsing due to periodic mood swings then I‘ll never quit.  Oh! It’s because I am a piece of shit-visions of slashing my own arms, crashing my dirty car, choking my own neck.  Where does the impulse to hurt myself come from? An attempt to scratch my wildest itch? An expression of how badly I want to remove myself from...it? 

Funny that my mind feels of a place rather than a part of me. Me a part of it. I don’t think in terms of changing, I think in terms of leaving. As if the chemicals in my veins were the culprit, sending signals to my brain it’s time to leave.