Elephant.

This is the kind of stress than pulls my head in every direction and in no direction. If there was a net force, it would be zero, no acceleration anywhere, even if my incapable brain had any mass at all.
So basically I have done nothing, and in some twisted way, I have no desire to do anything, and this isn't justification for sloth. There are just no feelings.
In the past weeks, I've opened blogspot and tumblr every single day with the intention to write something. I have considered confessions, outpourings, and sermons alike (not sermons.... I jk. I'm not in the place for that), but not once have I formed a single cohesive paragraph. Exhibit A, take large number.

A quote by Paul Gilmartin, author of (tumblr credited) the Mental Illness Happy Hour
“I cannot stand small talk, because I feel like there’s an elephant standing in the room shitting all over everything and nobody is saying anything. I’m just dying to say, “Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?” or “Do you feel an emptiness inside your chest at night that is going to swallow you?” But you can’t say that at a cocktail party.”

Do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge? One day I will ask someone, although hopefully it won't be out of such desperate measures. Bridges are useful and romantic if used the right way. In all seriousness, I think something is going to swallow me, and its breath stinks. The odor reminds of me people I can't forgive and a mix of bad meals. The warmth of the swallowing breath is much like elephants' poo, too soft, too large, too messy to clean up.

In an extended metaphorical and not so twisted way, I also want to jump off a bridge. I want to take the withdrawal with fail; I want to stop running, huddle in a blanket, read, and forget to eat. It would be so easy to stop eating and habitually lie to everyone... isn't that already the default? It would be so easy, but it would be so hard to feel alive again. At the lowest trough of the waves, I want to stop talking and stare at sweater patterns with whatever frequency comes most easily. If I stare long enough, I forget to see the ugly and only see the world (but not in a guru universe way. more like a yoga way). But mostly I'm just weak. Those were all spineless desires to express. Its not that the elephant is being ignored but that it is grossly protruding and defecating all over, and I just hate the smell of poo.

The problem isn't even that I feel this way; emotions are fleeting, not defining. The problem is Paul Gilmartin. Nobody is saying anything. I'm just dying to say, "Hey, do you ever feel like jumping off a bridge?" and in now a truly twisted way, I'm dying to here someone say, "Yeah."