This is how my day starts. Strong, black coffee, so bitter that my tongue goes numb. Sweet, too sweet to drink, chocolate protein shake. No smokes. No sex. No meaningful conversations. Low point.
Then the gym. Hyping myself into a frenzy for just only one hour. During that hour, I go through a mental routine to get myself ready, to be able to accomplish way more than my weak body is capable of. To break my muscles, to break my will. My skin tingles, adrenalin surges, I lift, I run, I accomplish. High point.
Then I try singing. My voice screeches, I am off-key, but I am still high on the workout fumes, so I don’t know it. I create terrible music. I write terrible chapters. I put on awful makeup. In my head, I soar, but it doesn’t last very long. I get hungry. Low on sugar, I get really down, I get weak, I barely move, but I don’t remember to eat in time. If only I did, I’d stay leveled. But here comes the low point.
Then the nights. Meaningless. Quick. Too quick to rest or to love. Too bland. I must sleep to be able to hype myself next morning, and I hate sleeping because at night I miss all the good words that end up never written. I miss all the meaningful conversations with all the people I care about. And hence I go on, unattached, unaware, unembraced, unaccomplished. I blame it on the night. Another low point.
If I could place my low and high points on a chart, I’d get a wave function, cyclical, rhythmical, musical. My life is a sound in a D minor, that to a stranger sounds beautiful.
by EM