Please don’t his like without actually reading this. Also, the formatting looks a lot better if you actually visit my site. Thanks (:
I realize I’m making this more of a journal at the moment. I’m just alone and feeling alone at the same time. But here you are, Internets. And here I am, in my bed. My cat is sleeping. No one to talk to.
My posts today didn’t do that well. Makes me a bit sad- like I wasted my time with them. I do work hard. It might not seem like it because it’s a casual blog but I do try to make content and share content that is interesting. I want it to be interesting. For me to be interesting. I am an interesting person. My mom told me. We don’t get along no more but she said it to me and I take it as a compliment.
I caved and took half a vicodin (peach). It’s not a lot. I’m used to a lot more. But, going down that road is a dangerous road. I’m just in a lot of physical pain and nothing is helping. My back and ribs are so bad from vomiting. And I’m quite angry and quite sad. Depression outwards and inwards. All at the same time.
The main problem with peaches is that they make my mood swings much worse. When they hit me, I get happy. Then the next day, I’m worse than ever. I really need a new anti-depressant to help dampen the blow. God, do I need one. And another mood stabilizer or a raise of the one I’m on. I need to get to a fucking scripter. What I’m on is clearly not working.
On top of that, peaches make me sick to my stomach. & I can’t keep food down at the moment. So this is going to be one fuck of a night. One fuck of a night harder than it already was going to be. I already got sick seven times today. Nothing is in me. No electrolytes. Vitamins or minerals. Nothing. So I lay down and not move to conserve the little energy I have.
I just needed some relief. I just wanted to go away a bit (a lot).
…There is so much more I want to write. To say. But I am afraid of who will read it. Who will judge it. Judge me. So I say one or two things and hide myself away under my blanket…
I didn’t get a refill on my medical cannabis yet. That might help me go away easier under my blanket. Might help the lot of symptoms I’m experiencing.
In other news, for some reason I keep thinking today is the 4th of July. And, I feel very disconnected to people who claim they love me. I lost the ability to love awhile back.
Depression ate all the love I had in me.
And I’ve been seeing shadows and things that aren’t there. Cats and people. That’s a side affect of one of my meds. I’m not psychotic or in a state of psychosis. Or, at least, I don’t think I am. It’s just the “medicine”. I was tested for that shit and was offered a drug for it but then they backed off and said it’s the medication.
…I wish I wasn’t so angry. Snappy and loud and having to deal with these never ending flashbacks that bring me to tears even now as a type this. I’m too fucking dehydrated to be wasting tears. I wish I was a little nothing. Particularly little, because I’m so big. I need more pills to dull the noise of this very loud world and my very loud, mean angry mind.
I’m angry because of what he did to me. And what the other man did to me. And the one after that. And I’m mad that nobody protected me when I was helpless as a child. Becoming an adult, now on the wrong side of my 20s, makes me see things more vibrantly. And I’m holding a major grudge against my family for not saving me from the nightmare I lived. And for now expecting me to be a totally normal, high functioning cunt. I’m not. I’m on chemo and living with the aftermath of molestation and rape and terror. Nothing is ever enough. STOP ASKING ME WHAT I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE! I CAN’T GET OUT OF BED! Chemo takes so much energy. My past I relive takes even more. They don’t get it. And any progress I make, I puke it up (literally).
Now, look at me. Complaining. This is a very annoying blog. I wouldn’t even read it. I think I should close it. Delete everything and fall back into myself. <- Like I’m asking for people to say “No you’re awesome!” No, I’m not saying that. I just hate my content. And I don’t think every idea should be committed to paper or web. I don’t want to clutter and clog the tubes of instant connectivity any more than they already are with this nonsense… nonsense nonsense nonsense.
Let’s shine a light. People say I should. I have some good news. I’m finishing my Walking Dead tattoo in August. The artist I’m using is FUCKING AWESOME. But, hella expensive which means I won’t be able to add to my art collection for the next couple months. In any case, I’m getting zombie scratches- deep looking 3D wounds with my rib cage showing and everything under my preexisting quote of “Just Survive Somehow”. Rainbow blood pouring out. But, of course the excitement pops in and then leaves. Leaving no footprints. And then I think, once more, it’s the
fucking 4th of July.
I hope I fall asleep now and wake up tomorrow not thinking today is the 4th of July. And that I don’t dream.
Because my subconscious doesn’t like me, either.
We all hate me. Not loving makes things easier, though. Love opens myself up to more hurt. And I’ve been hurt enough for one lifetime.
I know people have had it soo much worse than me. I read your stories under the Depression tag. I genuinely don’t mean to diminish anyone else’s life experiences. I am not as strong as them. I am not as strong as you. The only strong thing about me is that I haven’t killed myself like my friends have. I miss them a lot, you know. I never talk about that. And I blame myself every day that I couldn’t save them. I didn’t visit them. I didn’t visit her on that Christmas. It’s my fault. I know it. It wasn’t her boyfriend. It wasn’t the suicide pact with him. It was mine for not going to see her on Christmas. She shouldn’t have had to die that way. No one should die in a barn alone in the cold by a rope. Nobody. Nobody nobody nobody. I wonder if it took long, or if her neck snapped instantly. I never inquired because it makes me too sick to say out loud. And I couldn’t go to the funeral. Face it. And the others shouldn’t have passed either- by pills. Pills pills pills. I miss them. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault and I’m sorry. I’m a bad friend, drowning in myself.