I took a day off from pretending. Normalcy is a train full of relatively happy, ordinary people. I typically sit in the last car, watching them and wondering how I can assimilate well enough to fool them, and more importantly myrself, into believing that my ticket is valid. The back door malfunctions and I have to keep a tight grip on the safety lever to keep the whole thing from flying open. But today my arms are tired and I just let go, fall out. I'll get back on, probably. It'll take all the more effort to catch up to the caravan but it doesn't really matter; I don't belong there, and the ride makes me nauseous.

Off the train, it's even worse. It was warmer inside, safer. Outside, I don't know what to do. I've lost my sense of control, what now? Just fucked up, juvenile confusion and rage. Intense anger, I don't know where it comes from or why, but it comes, and rattles my insides. It's good, though. It's a high, it's a feeling. A feeling is better than no feeling.

Lock the door, even though I want to be everywhere but here, tearing the shit out of it all. What the fuck is wrong with me? Goddamn watch keeps beeping and I don't know how to make it stop. I want to light some candles, but I always forget to cut the wick and end up smoking the whole place out. I cry a little, but not nearly as much as I'd like.

A letter came the other day. From my aunt, she included a check for fifty bucks. I'm reminded of the two times she's called, how I never called back. She's in the hospital—something crazy is going on with her ovary. It burst, or something, if that's possible. I don't know, I haven't called. I care, just not as much as I should.

What I really care about is the probability that I'm being poisoned by toxic metals. It makes sense, in a way. It's not terribly uncommon. There are twenty-one pill bottles on my shelf. I looked at them all today and realized how I'd react if I saw them in someone else's room. But they help.

I'm so two-faced and moody .I don't know who to trust, who to love, who to hate. I'm psychologically capable of sincerely hating and loving someone simultaneously, and it's not an infrequent occurrence. Someone wants to help me, he says he cares about me, but I wonder what's in it for him. He's trying to brainwash me, most likely. I trust my gut, and my gut tells me everyone looks out for himself, first and foremost. It's just a natural thing. He wants something, I have nothing, there's no point to it. Besides, he taps into something I don't like. He sees things I don't want people to see, and I can't stand it.

One person buys my phony act, or at least pretends to, and that makes me feel good, safe, high. Normal, for just a little bit.

I make a lot of foolish mistakes, and I know I'm making them when I make them. I'm making one now.

I'm sick to my stomach, my mind is buzzing.

I taste metal. Why do I taste metal? I only drink bottled water—there might be copper in the tap. In fact, I blame the copper for all of this. I can't watch two handfuls of hair wash down the drain every night and not have something to blame. There has to be something to blame, and most likely, it's copper.

I'm so far from the person I used to be, I thought I'd be, the thought provokes a lump in my throat that's physically palpable. Maybe it's all my thyroid. They're doing studies on the nitrates in water and their interference with thyroid function.

I'm crazy, but at least I know it. It makes me even angrier. I can choose not to be crazy for a while, I can get back on the train, but it's not the same for me as it is for most people. I have to try so hard to hold onto the handle. Other people don't have to try like this, do they? They have to try, but not like this. Some people just board at the back of the train and never make their way up to the front. Some people board in the middle and get redirected to the back during the ride. It makes no difference where you start; once you're in the back it's hard as hell to stay on.

It's probably my fault. Was it my fault when I were four, and pulled out my eyelashes till my eyelids were bruised and bare?

The person I miss called today, asked how I'm doing & said we should spend some time together..then we both discovered we are damn too busy. I've been having dreams about that person lately. They make me feel warm. I think, there's a time when I were happy, and normal. Things were okay. Those times are gone.

I hate what Iwant, I don't know what you want. I'm a child. I'm not a child; I'm not a person. I'm shit. I feel like shit. I'm sick. Something is wrong.

Fuck it all. If only I could vomit everything. Throw up everything, and start the day with a clean gut. I'd make things better the next time around. If only I could drain all the blood from my body and pump my veins full of fresh life; everything inside now is dirty, poison.

My best friend needs my help. She just wants someone to talk to her; she's hurting. I can't talk to her.
I can't feel. I care, but not as much as I should.

What I really care about is the celery—should I eat it? It's a negative calorie food, but if I eat too much this late, will it spike my blood sugar and ultimately contribute to the progression of insulin resistance?

The train is so far ahead, it's become a speck on the horizon. I can't charge after the caboose, my joints are too stiff—probably because my vitamin D levels are suboptimal. It doesn't really matter; I don't belong there, and the ride makes me nauseous.

I'm tired and if I don't sleep, I'll subject myself to erratic cortisol fluctuations. On the tracks, I curl up, close my eyes, and wait for the next train.