Reflection from December 24th, 2007 @ Age 26
RE: *ALSO* THE SWORD IN THE STONE ;0P
Well merry fucking Christmas Eve to you. I tell you what, I’m in the fucking wringer and I can’t get out. I’ve been swinging high and low for weeks now and I can’t find stable ground. I have fury the size of Africa and the slightest little thing will set me off flying. My mom moves my heating pad (which, incidentally used to be her heating pad) from my couch where I watch TV into her room at night because her room is over the garage and motherfucking cold, and when she didn’t put it back and I sat down to watch tv and saw this I was infuckingfuriated. I just now couldn’t find my black skirt that I wanted to wear in my drawers and my mom folded my laundry and brought it up from the laundry room and I was irate thinking she did something with it. Lo and behold, I of course found it about a half a minute later when I continued looking through my drawers. And the funny thing is, I don’t even fucking care about where my stupid black skirt is, and I don’t care that my mom uses the fucking heating pad. But I get in these fucking moods and I don’t want to be touched and I don’t want to be spoken to, and I feel absolutely out of control with rage, and I feel like I can’t do a goddamn thing about it, because what I want to do is destroy anything that means something to me or to someone else. I want to destroy because I have to suffer this motherfucking pain that nobody else can see, but I must suffer from nonetheless.
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.
And now I swing to mean…I think, what a fucking self-pitying bitch I am, forsaking all that is good in my life for nothing! All I want is more more more, and I am simply incapable with being satisfied with all that I have. Part of me feels that way too, and it wreaks havoc on the suffering side.
I don’t know, I don’t think I’m making any fucking sense, I feel like a rambling idiot, and more and more, eternal darkness seems a viable option. I think part of me likes to indulge in the dark side, but then the dark side turns on me and is cruelest of all. For example, part of me wants to list, right here and now, all of the good that I’ve got going in my life. But the other part of me wants to ignore that, so I can continue to suffer in peace. It’s ironic, in a way.
I’m done. Except to say that I sent Martie a Christmas card and part of me feels fine about it, and the other part of me is furious that I’d do something kind for that crazy bitch. But it’s too late now, the mail has gone.
No, there is more…I feel like I have this tendency to get obsessed with different things, I get attached and derive pleasure from repeating it over and over, and then I am tired of it and I am done with it and will have it no more. This’s happened with Dave, for example, and that movie “Across the Universe”, and Led Zeppelin there for a while, and Jeff Buckley…what else? I do it with food, like Dairy Queen twist ice cream cones dipped in cherry, and Arby’s curly fries, and the like. I truly believe I am obsessive/compulsive and I should probably be treated for that as well. I am bipolar, obsessive/compulsive, depressed, socially retarded, etc. I am a mess. And that’s the funniest part about it, because I look like a real fucking winner if you take my physical appearance and my resume into question. A real fucking winner.
I find it soothing when I can control my immediate surroundings, at home, because then at least I feel like I have some refuge from this awful world. I don’t have that living at home; well, I guess to a point I do…but not like I did when I was living alone. I think it’s good for me to live alone, but financial circumstances will not permit doing so. I think that’s part of the reason I fly off the fucking handle when my mom moves the goddamn heating pad, because it represents the lack of control I have over my most personal of surroundings.
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.
Grrr…I’ve cleaned the bathroom, done my laundry, cleaned out my desk, organized all my paperwork, vacuumed the stairs, taken a shower, typed up some old journal entries, and now there is no more time left to blow. I’m going to start on my motherfucking bar exam application. Motherfuckers. I’m wondering if it would be a terrible thing to push it off until February 2009? Seems like a nice long ways away…hopefully enough time away such that I can get my house in order and feel prepared to study for and take it. I don’t feel ready to take it this year. Actually, technically, it’s still next year…but not far enough away for me. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to face whatever it is I’m going to have to fucking face in order to do this. Motherfucking fuckers.