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FINE INTERNET. IT IS NOT LIKE I AM IN A SHITTY MOOD AND HAVE BEEN FOR DAYS NOW AND JUST WANTED TO READ SOME FIC BEFORE I WENT TO BED. NO, OF COURSE NOT. WHY ELSE WOULD I BE ON THE INTERNET AT 3AM WHEN I AM GOING OUT AT 9AM TOMORROW.
Fuck you too.
Stay with me folks. There could be rambling. [edit] there was.
I am in foul fucking form again. I completely and utterly suspect myself of my depression coming back in full force and just booting me in the metaphorical balls right now. I have felt wretched since I came home and have no one to talk to properly. Andy keep ringing me from Japan, bless him, but I can't even get it out to him because I don't want to burden him with the whining and the being miserable and the fact that today I woke up and thought I was going to crawl out of my own skin if I didn't either a) stop being myself and being in my own mind or b) go out and scream or dance or fight or fuck. And neither of those options are really me so of course I didn't and i feel worse for it.
My parents, of course, have noticed how not-myself and down I am again (because it is pretty obvious really, i am no master of subtlety) and I just want to lock myself away in my room and paint and draw and write and sing and create until I'm nothing more than a conduit and free from my own mind for a few hours. And of course I can't because I have no energy, no desire and the guilt guilt guilt that just buzzes in my fucking cells and stops me doing fucking anything productive. Not cleaning my room, not writing my journal, not scanning art, not writing letters, nothing. fuck. FUCK.
I don't want to be this way again but the look people get in their eyes (it's like sadness) when I mention maybe it wasn't a good idea taking myself off the medication early, not even 6 months into it and their voices that go all careful but, like, disappointed too. What am I supposed to do? People have their own lives - I don't want a babysitter nor do I need one but I'm not strong enough to live life at the minute. I'm not 'myself' enough to go back to work and kill kill kill myself serving people in McDonalds but I am broke and need the money to do things that I want to do, like go and sort Leeds out, go out for people's birthdays, see people.
What am I supposed to do? I'm doing something that should, in theory, make me happier tomorrow. I've gained weight since being away and have been told/ordered not to lose the weight because "i got so thin last year" but i was the weight i'm supposed to be i was happy that way, it felt good. And it's not a lot I want to lose, just enough to fit into a pair of jeans that i own without feeling fat or unhappy with the rolls over the top of the denim because, of course, i lost the weight and bought low-slung jeans because i like them. So i'm not happy with the way I look but i'm going to get my ears pierced again and get my hair done - when in doubt, stick a few needles into yourself and chop your hair, right?
ARGH I just want to be myself and to be in routine and have people talk to me because they are honestly happy to see me. I haven't really heard from anyone since i've been home and that's not anyone's fault. They've got lives, i know that and i respect that. I don't have an issue with that. I have an issue with feeling like a disposable friend - i sit and wait around like a marionette for someone to show interest, pick me off the shelf and pull my strings.
Then Uncle Stan rang on Saturday night (or was it Monday?) and I heard half the conversation whilst Matt and I cleaned the kitchen around mum. Stan was Eileen's wife - the one who died. And I hadn't cried. But I listened to mum talk to him and be practical and console him in her way "grieve and part of you will always grieve but remember what a woman she was and she's not in pain anymore" and they rang off. "He said 'my eileen, my eileen's gone'" she said to me and we worried (in the way we frowned and pinched our lips together) that he'll drown his sorrows in a bottle like he does and I just grabbed mum and hugged her and cried because she was Eileen and she's so much like my mum and oh god, my mum, when she dies, what am I going to do? I can't cope when Eileen - who I met only a few times and stayed with - dies, what am I supposed to do? And I cried and wanted to be a kid again and not have to think or cope with that. But i do have to and i have to get over it but i don't know how.
fuck. and it doesn't help that i am 99% certain that I have pulled muscles in my stomach climbing out of a chair tonight. fucking awesome. good times life. good times
Fuck you too.
Stay with me folks. There could be rambling. [edit] there was.
I am in foul fucking form again. I completely and utterly suspect myself of my depression coming back in full force and just booting me in the metaphorical balls right now. I have felt wretched since I came home and have no one to talk to properly. Andy keep ringing me from Japan, bless him, but I can't even get it out to him because I don't want to burden him with the whining and the being miserable and the fact that today I woke up and thought I was going to crawl out of my own skin if I didn't either a) stop being myself and being in my own mind or b) go out and scream or dance or fight or fuck. And neither of those options are really me so of course I didn't and i feel worse for it.
My parents, of course, have noticed how not-myself and down I am again (because it is pretty obvious really, i am no master of subtlety) and I just want to lock myself away in my room and paint and draw and write and sing and create until I'm nothing more than a conduit and free from my own mind for a few hours. And of course I can't because I have no energy, no desire and the guilt guilt guilt that just buzzes in my fucking cells and stops me doing fucking anything productive. Not cleaning my room, not writing my journal, not scanning art, not writing letters, nothing. fuck. FUCK.
I don't want to be this way again but the look people get in their eyes (it's like sadness) when I mention maybe it wasn't a good idea taking myself off the medication early, not even 6 months into it and their voices that go all careful but, like, disappointed too. What am I supposed to do? People have their own lives - I don't want a babysitter nor do I need one but I'm not strong enough to live life at the minute. I'm not 'myself' enough to go back to work and kill kill kill myself serving people in McDonalds but I am broke and need the money to do things that I want to do, like go and sort Leeds out, go out for people's birthdays, see people.
What am I supposed to do? I'm doing something that should, in theory, make me happier tomorrow. I've gained weight since being away and have been told/ordered not to lose the weight because "i got so thin last year" but i was the weight i'm supposed to be i was happy that way, it felt good. And it's not a lot I want to lose, just enough to fit into a pair of jeans that i own without feeling fat or unhappy with the rolls over the top of the denim because, of course, i lost the weight and bought low-slung jeans because i like them. So i'm not happy with the way I look but i'm going to get my ears pierced again and get my hair done - when in doubt, stick a few needles into yourself and chop your hair, right?
ARGH I just want to be myself and to be in routine and have people talk to me because they are honestly happy to see me. I haven't really heard from anyone since i've been home and that's not anyone's fault. They've got lives, i know that and i respect that. I don't have an issue with that. I have an issue with feeling like a disposable friend - i sit and wait around like a marionette for someone to show interest, pick me off the shelf and pull my strings.
Then Uncle Stan rang on Saturday night (or was it Monday?) and I heard half the conversation whilst Matt and I cleaned the kitchen around mum. Stan was Eileen's wife - the one who died. And I hadn't cried. But I listened to mum talk to him and be practical and console him in her way "grieve and part of you will always grieve but remember what a woman she was and she's not in pain anymore" and they rang off. "He said 'my eileen, my eileen's gone'" she said to me and we worried (in the way we frowned and pinched our lips together) that he'll drown his sorrows in a bottle like he does and I just grabbed mum and hugged her and cried because she was Eileen and she's so much like my mum and oh god, my mum, when she dies, what am I going to do? I can't cope when Eileen - who I met only a few times and stayed with - dies, what am I supposed to do? And I cried and wanted to be a kid again and not have to think or cope with that. But i do have to and i have to get over it but i don't know how.
fuck. and it doesn't help that i am 99% certain that I have pulled muscles in my stomach climbing out of a chair tonight. fucking awesome. good times life. good times
