I think it started awhile ago.
Therapist says it’s a symptom of some fucked up psych diagnosis that I don’t know is real or not.
To be real with you, I have an addictive personality.
I spent time (too much time, like two years wasted) addicted to hardcore video games.
I’ve spent time (too much time) baking an insane amount of goods that could feed a town.
I’m the type that GOES BIG OR GOES HOME.
And going home means contemplating self-harming, pill popping, and trying my hardest to forget I exist.
I’m constantly looking for my Quick Fix.
My meds for pain.
They’re great… but stopped working after awhile.
For a little while, it was a social life. I used to go out more. That was fun.
For a little while, it was attention from men. Then I realized they were, by and large, stupid.
For a long while it was Amazon and Etsy binging (btw, Amazon is still in the picture).
Throughout it all, I have been spending my small, microscopic funds nearly every day on buying add ons for apps.
I don’t have the money.
My mother is angry. She says it’s a scheme.
I don’t give a fuck.
It makes me momentarily happy.
That and some pills.
I drown myself.
I feel better for an hour.
Finally, some relief.
All I want is relief.
I don’t want to cry.
She says to find something else to make me happy.
I’m getting another inspirational tattoo. That makes me happy. But it’s not enough. Nothing is ever enough.
Because when it’s over, guess what?
I’M IN MY BED.
Seeing things I don’t want to see.
And when I sleep,
I see things I don’t want to see.
Trapped in me.