Reflection from December 24th, 2007 @ Age 26
RE: FINDING SOURCES OF POWER IN ALL KINDS OF UNUSUAL PLACES ;0)
I cry everyday now and I think about applying to take the bar exam and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to do it. I don’t know what to do, and I have no one to speak with, and I feel alone and I have no friends in this town and I’d just rather die than continue living this nightmare of a life.
I want to destroy such that I may manifest my emotional pain that cannot be seen. I want to be numb but I have to use the doctor’s drugs, I’m not permitted to use marijuana which I already know works. Sure I’m fucking skinnier and healthier and more productive perhaps than I would be when I smoke pot, but I have to live my life in a world I’d rather die than live in. At least when I smoke pot I can live in peace in this godforsaken world. I don’t have to cry everyday and I can see beauty all around me instead of this fucking ugliness I now can’t escape. And nobody can see how much fucking pain I’m in, and I can’t explain it to others and they don’t get it. They say everyone feels that way from time to time, except that I’ve suffered from this all of my life, time after time.
I saw Johnny Depp’s new movie with Helena Bonham Carter “Sweeney Todd” and it was phenomenal. I love that it came out right before Christmas too because it’s all about how life makes you cold and hard—how life is unfair and cruel and how it turns the greatest of hearts into stone. I want everyone to suffer, and part of me truly wants to believe that everyone does suffer. But I want to know that I am not the only one.
I fear that I am self-inducing these “moods” upon myself, and I fear that’s what others think when I try to express my despair. This makes me want to internalize and start cutting myself slowly to death. The most awful part of mental illness is that others judge you and minimize your pain because they cannot understand the torture we go through swinging high to low all fucking day. They think somehow that our moods are within self-control, and perhaps to a point they are—but when someone suffers as I do for years on end, their entire goddamn life—there simply must be more to it than that.
I mean I think I’ve been very open-minded about the whole situation, agreeing to the therapy and the IOP and to AA. But man…I cannot find me some relief. I’m beginning to think it’s impossible; I want to believe it’s impossible. If relief is impossible, that means I will feel free to kill myself knowing that it’s the only way to free myself from this crippling disease.
I want to feel numb—numb and happy. I want some pot and I want some wine, so I can feel numb and happy and leave this awful place. I’m tired of suffering, and yet my mental illness keeps me from peace. The doctor’s drugs don’t work and I’m not allowed to smoke pot, and if I want to take this motherfucking bar exam, then I’m not allowed to smoke pot or drink wine. My life is not my own. I really hate that, when my life is not my own.
Okay now I’m done. Merry fucking Christmas Eve and glory be to god in the highest. Asshole.
Except that there’s one more thing…reading through my old journals, it makes me sick to see the extent to which I became obsessed with the program and “god”. It makes me fucking sick to see how easily a human being can be manipulated when they find themselves in need of something to believe in. I hate it—but it helps me to understand these religious fucking fanatics and whatnot. I think the need for something to believe—the need to find meaning in this life in order to justify all the pain suffered—is one of the most powerful forces upon us.