Where to begin?
First, I’m off my meds. Yay I think. Feeling more like myself although I did have a horrible period of derealization and withdrawal and suicidal existentialism. Everything was meaningless. Pain was eternal. You know, the fun stuff.
I moved in with B’s family. His dog, Zoey, is currently next to me and scaring herself with farts. She is legitimately alarmed by her butt. It’s pretty cute.
We’re living in the attic. So far it is constantly stressful. Like holy-crap-how-is-this-real-life stressful. I thought it’d be a nice respite to not have rent but I walked into a war zone.
I am still reliably unstable. So I’ve got that going for me. My doctor diagnosed me as bipolar which is funny because my diagnosis changes every fucking time I go in. Wants to put me on depakote but that’s silly. I don’t want to be medicated any more, it doesn’t help. It just makes me constantly on edge and doubting whether what I’m feeling is real or “just the meds.” Not a really great place to be 24/7.
Anyway, let’s see. I don’t even feel like complaining about any of the crap that’s happened. It’s just been way too fucking intense. Way more intense than I was prepared for.
Lots of life changes in a relatively short amount of time. I pile it on myself pretty hard. I find it almost impossible to relax. Sleeping is difficult. I head butted B in the face this morning when I jolted awake. I thrash and am not well-rested. I wake up jittery and anxious and have to distract myself and tire myself out all day in order to maybe, just maybe, get some shut eye 20 hours later.
I vary between totally hopeful and optimistic for the future and then reality punches me in the teeth and reminds me that everything is precarious right now, and my gap in employment is only growing larger. I wish I cared more, haha. But my happiness doesn’t stem from money or career fulfillment. That’s where the problem stems from I suppose. I’ve tried to gain happiness. It’s not something you can just achieve by completing levels and beating bosses. If it were, I wouldn’t have this blog.
I’ve got hopes and dreams but I’ve also got some deep pessimistic futility. That’s probably redundant. I suck at words. It’s hard to put everything that’s been happening into text. I’ve tried drawing and writing and singing and a slew of other activities. None of it seems to completely release the tension. I’m pretty wound up. Turnt up. TURN UP THE WHAT. I don’t know.
If I keep writing it will be easier to formulate a concise blurb about what is actually going on. For now, I’m gonna end this. OB LA DI. OB LA DDAAAA. Gonna go read some creepy stories and apply for 1043 more jobs.
Note to self: start to take down the walls in interactions with others because the only person I’m hurting is myself when I lie and say I’m fine. I’m not fine and that’s fine. Sometimes things are ok. Sometimes things are hopeless bullshit soaked in sewer gunk.
My feet are dirty. My fingernails are jagged. Stomach is rumbling uncomfortably. It’s easy to get lost in the right now when I’m so used to forecasting years down the road and reliving every horrible second of memories I wish I could forget. Gotta get that balance thing down.