Astronaught

Surreal.

The mental health centre is mostly wide and flat, misshapen and lumpy, as though someone had thrown three floors of rectangular blocks together. Then a steel monolith rising from one corner. For a building of greys and browns it's remarkably psychedelic.
The parking system is outdated. You can tell it's a government building because they have to physically type in the information on my health card instead of swiping it. Carry the envelope upstairs. Studies show that if you put someone in an elevator with three other people facing the back wall, that person will turn around. A good twenty minutes early.
They seemed nice enough. I am not like you. Ergo, some of my answers you will understand and some of them you will not... nagging feeling that this has been said before. Ignore it.
I don't like talking to strangers about such things. I've been conditioned. (Shut up. Stop your whining, we don't want to hear it. You think you're the only one who's got problems? You think you know what pain feels like? You think you're special? You're not. You're just a child, you don't understand. Honestly, get up, you're not fooling anyone. Stop it. Look, now you made her cry. You see what you've done, you little freak? You think the only one who cares about you is you? Stop this pretending and stand up. I said STAND UP, YOU LITTLE CREEP!) Makes me less comfortable talking about it. Having to pepper everything with "I have to keep making sure I'm not just imagining it." I'd rather just not bring it up.
I hate questionnaires. There's never a Well Yes But answer. Since I subscribe to absolute truth in such matters I probably skewed the results a little. Giving the impression that things don't bother me, simply because they've become so prevalent in my life I've learned to live with them. Headaches, tremors, twitches, evil voices in my head, that sort of thing.
Of course, one of them is going to Australia. I'd like to live there someday. Or Alaska. Skagway. I fell in love with Skagway. Someday I would like to go there again. The cold, and the quiet, and the ocean always in view.
After this morning everything seems surreal. I wish sometimes I had a miracle pill, so I can check whether or not things are real. But then... I couldn't live like that. I couldn't let any drug take the pain away. No good EVER comes of that.
Played Taboo. Velociraptor is the best word for that, I think. Spent the afternoon wondering almost where I was. Everything seems faded. The colours are draining from the world, it seems.
Still can't tell whether or not I'm saying Dan's name right. Tried to write a love song. Failed miserably. Within minutes it collapsed into darkness. I'll try again later, maybe. Still can't find any synonyms for beautiful... every description of the body is worthless. Everything is just a euphemism for sex. That's not what I want. Sex kills. I'm supposed to be a writer, for glascoumsand, why can't I even express the one emotion that really matters? I'm still worried I'm going to unintentionally insult someone. Sigh. I hate words. Sad for a writer but I do. Even my muse cannot change that. I think in ideas, and nothing ever translates directly from that. Everything comes out wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. In that sense I'm hopeless.
It's getting colder.
I do talk about myself a lot, don't I? Sigh. I'll shut up now.