I am broken. And every so often – more often than I’d like to admit – I experience what I call “chaos shock”, where my entire existence malfunctions. Every inch of me – mentally, physically, emotionally – erupts with quick, violent spasms, or so it feels. I am completely overwhelmed, traumatized, to the point that I go into shock – chaos shock – and there is absolutely nothing I can do to relieve such a level of distress.

When this happens, I have to ride it out. My mind, my body, my soul – all of me has to ride it out and stay the fuck away from drugs and alcohol. And I really mean it when I say I have to do absolutely nothing, except ride it out, because even the most mundane thought, the slightest movement, can send me spiraling toward a severe manic or depressive episode.

So I sit, and I breathe, and I pray that I make it through okay. And most times, I do make it through okay, as long as I stay the fuck away from drugs and alcohol and eventually fall asleep. Because if I don’t stay the fuck away from that shit, well, good luck to me.

***

I’m fucked, y’all.

I couldn’t stay the fuck away from drugs and alcohol. I told y’all what a bad idea that shit is, yet here I am, now zooming toward a complete system shutdown. Every inch of me – mentally, physically, emotionally – overcome with agonizing uncertainty. Will I make it through? Will I be okay? I’m gasping for air, desperate for a sign.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I do this? Time and time again, why do I do this? It’s torture, self-inflicted torture. And every time this happens, my mind, my body, my soul – all of me – grows weaker. Fuck, even just the chaos shock alone leaves all of me weaker. Soon enough, I will be too frail to endure such brutality. My existence can only handle so many malfunctions. Then what? Death? At least I’ll no longer be broken.