A Christmas Wish

I'm completely exhausted and posting from my Kindle because I'm too tired to start up my laptop.

But I wanted to post this before I passed out for the night.

Wherever they are--the three of them (well, I know where Kitty is, but whatever because this applies to her, too)--wherever they are this Christmas, I hope more than anything that they are happy.

And even if they don't consciously recognize it, I hope they know in the backs of their minds that somewhere in this world, there is a little girl who truly loves them.

That is my Christmas wish.

And The Stockings Were Hung By The Chimney With Care....

I am going to my parents' tomorrow for Christmas. As such, I had to get my shit finished tonight.

I made a coconut pie. While it was baking, I wrapped presents. Then, I made a chocolate meringue pie. I wrapped more presents while it baked Then, the meringue on my pie cracked in half down the middle while it was cooling, which it's never done before. While I was trying to hide the crack, I got some meringue on my fingers. When I licked it off, I realized it tasted horrible. I'd put too much baking powder in it (to keep it fluffier).

So I stripped the old meringue off and made up some more. Then, I stuck the damn pie BACK in the oven. Then, I wrapped more presents. Then, I made oatmeal cookies. Then, I wrapped MORE FUCKING PRESENTS. And I don't mean I stuck them in gift bags. I ended up with 32 packages, and all but one of them was hand-wrapped and decorated with ribbons and bows and name tags. The other was a couple of pairs of earrings for my mother, which were put in those boxes that look like Christmas Chinese takeout, packed with tissue paper, taped down, and decorated with bows and name tags. Oh, and then the little handle things were tied together to make it one present instead of two.

Then, I picked up all the wrapping shit in the living and stuffed it back in the closet. After that, I finished cleaning up the kitchen (which, admittedly, wasn't much because I clean as I go--I just had to wash the last cookie sheet, stick a couple of things in the dishwasher, and wipe down the counters and stove) and put the cookies in a Christmas carrier thing. I also put the pies in the refrigerator. Then, I packed up everything I won't need tomorrow morning that I need to take with me.

It is now 2 am. I just got out of the shower and turned the dishwasher on. I am so exhausted. My back hurts so bad I can hardly sit up straight. Oh, and did I mention I started all that shit at 6 pm? Yes, it took me 8 hours to get ready for the holidays. Not to mention that I had to paddle around in the monsoon before that to finish my shopping.

Oh, and to add insult to injury, because I was mixing everything up with the mixer they gave me and wrapping Kitty's presents with the same rolls of paper I've been using for the last 3 years or so (which means it was what I wrapped *their* presents with a couple of Christmases ago), I couldn't stop thinking about any of them.

*Sigh* I need the thing from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I'm going to eat something and go lay down. I hurt so bad. And I need to get up tomorrow and go home. I have to meet my daddy halfway to pick up the curio cabinet we had commissioned for my mother's birthday, which is on Christmas Day, and I have to get there in time to load the thing up, drive home, and get it in the basement before she gets off work.

****

I wish I could tell them Merry Christmas. But I also know that it'd be a total douchebag move. Well, except for Kitty because she and I are cool now. But still...I hope they have a good Christmas. I know I'll be thinking about them, despite all efforts to the contrary.

Ok. Leaving you with my favorite Christmas song by one of my favorite singers. Bed now.

Stay Awhile, And Maybe Then You'll See A Different Side Of Me

I have started this post and erased it several times over the past few weeks. I've also got several drafts of it saved. Probably the only reason that this one is going to survive where the others haven't is that I've made a pact with myself that I'm going to say it tonight if it kills me.

You can only live with something buried away inside yourself for so long.

I'm going to try not to be too self-aggrandizing here. Partly because I'm trying to get away from that in the process of trying to change my life and partly because it detracts from what I want to convey. But I do feel that I have to say a little something about myself to provide context.

I've been crazy for a long time. Probably my whole life. I didn't realize it for a long time, and it was either not recognized or ignored by the people around me.

I have been overtly batshit for at least 5 or 6 years. Long manic spell that started no later than August 2005 (but probably sooner). Black, black, black depression that began in September 2007. Another long manic spell that began in mid-2008, culminating in the mixed episode from hell last fall. Rising into another mania that wasn't quite as bad as the two before it because of the meds that lasted until about...August? September?

In essence, I have been in a non-altered state of mind for roughly 3 months. Minus a few blips along the way. But yes. Euthymic/stable. Three months. Not too long, comparatively speaking.

I feel like I have come a long way in a short period of time. I've got a level of insight I've never had before. And that's what brought this particular post on.


I know perfectly well I've alienated people. I know that every criminal who never thought he'd get caught used the "but I was insane" excuse when his deeds finally did catch up with him. I know that there are people in this world who will probably never trust me again.

But I also know I was absolutely, medically, batshit-out-of-my-mind, convinced-the-government-was-spying-on-me, crazy. I did things that hurt people. Lots of people. Most of the things I did were spurred on by nothing but crazy person logic--the same logic that told me that the government was aware that I "knew too much" and that my own assassination-by-sniper was imminent, after which the Devil himself was going to come and personally escort my soul to Hell.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, I know. But through it all, I swear by all things holy, I never meant to hurt anyone. It's not much consolation. But it IS the truth. Still, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, so many times. I don't know how to live with that.


Kitty used to tell me regularly that she wanted things to go back to the way they were before. I didn't know what she meant. I asked her, and she couldn't articulate it. I even got angry at her because I thought she was being unreasonable and expecting something from me that I didn't even know what it was.

But I see it now.

She wanted back the life she and I had before I went completely insane. She wanted to be able to spend time with me without me flying into inappropriate rages over things I can't even fucking remember now. She wanted me to be at least semi-rational. She wanted me to stop the violent rages and the abusive behavior. She wanted me to stop accusing her of either being complicit in or actively participating in whatever my current delusion of persecution happened to be.

I didn't understand then, but I do now.

I know that Kitty and I may never be close like we once were. But I also know that she's granted me a precious gift by giving me the opportunity to at least attempt to make up for all the crazy I perpetrated for so long. It's a gift I don't deserve, but I refuse to be a dumbass and throw it all away again.

Maybe one day, she can even learn to trust me again.


In a similar vein...I often think about J., the other person I know I hurt badly. I am not shirking responsibility. Not in the least. I know how badly I fucked up over and over and over again. But I also know that, unlike Kitty, she never knew me when I wasn't batshit out of my mind insane.

In spite of that, I think she did like me at one time. I was crazy, scared to death of her, angry at her because her husband treated me like shit, delusional, full of rage/abusive (see above), and doing things that, again, only made sense to a crazy person. But I do think she liked me, even with all that shit.

I liked her, too. I was--am--in love with her. And that's completely outside of anything related to her fucking douchebag husband. But I hurt her, too, because I'm an idiot.

I wonder how she would feel about me now. I know she wouldn't trust me. But if she could like me when I was as fucked up and cracked out on my own brain chemistry as I was when I met her, I wonder what she would think of me now, insightful, medicated, no longer completely absorbed in myself and my own delusions.

I tried to convince her back in the summer that I wasn't nuts anymore. But I was. True, I wasn't AS nuts, but that's like saying you should think of me as a Tour de France winner because I can ride my bicycle with training wheels. I mean, hell, I can go back and look at the things I wrote back then and can see that I was still pretty...off. And justifying my behavior with crazy person logic. As usual.

She said that the things I'd done despite all the medication and whatnot further convinced her she couldn't trust me. And, despite my lack of insight about it at the time, she was right. She couldn't trust me then. Hell, I couldn't even trust me then.

But I feel that a great change has taken place inside me since then, for various reasons that aren't really relevant here, and I can't help but wonder what she'd think of me now.


I suppose I should wonder why I still care...but I don't. I care because I love the two women mentioned above. And only God knows how deep it goes and how much regret I carry in my heart for the things I've done and the way that everything went. And God, at least, bears me no ill-will for it, for, as Dostoevsky said, "Love can never be an offense to Christ."

I have to get off of here now before I get overwhelmed.

любовь?

I've been downloading a lot of the "classics" to read lately on my Kindle. This is for three reasons.

1.) I feel there are lots of holes in my education, regardless of all the English classes I took, and I'm one of those people who never wants to stop learning.

2.) Ok, admittedly, they're all from the same time period--the 19th century--because I have a fetish. I have, however, branched out into literature that's not American or English now that I've more or less exhausted the Victorian canon from those two countries.

3.) If it's more than 100 years old, chances are, the copyright's expired, and the book is public domain. This means free or less than $2 Kindle downloads. For a poor person, this cannot be emphasized too much.

I've been working on mid- to late-19th century Russian literature lately. Chekhov, Dostoevsky, Gogol, Goncharov, Ostrovsky, Pushkin, Tolstoy, Turgenev. (Ok, that's who all is in the collection. So far, I've hit Chekhov [Ivanov], Dostoevsky [The Brothers Karamazov], Tolstoy [Anna Karenina], and Turgenev [Diary of a Superfluous Man and Other Stories, a short story collection]. I'll get to the others eventually.)

Allow me a small digression here. The Russians are...interesting. Actually, I don't even say that in a disparaging way. They really are fascinating. Russia is on my list of Top 5 Places I Want To Visit.

The Russian Empire was awfully similar to the antebellum American South. In Britain, for example, serfdom was basically obsolete by the 1600s. In Russia, however, serfdom--which is basically just slavery--persisted until the tsar freed them in 1861, fearing a peasant uprising if they were not freed. 1861.

When the serfs were freed, things went more or less from bad to worse. The former serfs ended up being sharecroppers for the same people who'd owned them before; it was just another form of slavery, basically.

And there you have the history of the 19th century American South as well, from the pre-war slave-owning plantations to Reconstruction, only colder. Much, much colder. The only difference? The Russians eventually had a revolution. The South "found Jesus." In the end, the Communists and the Baptists fucked us both.

Anyway. Back to what I was saying about literature. Russian literature is very different from what you'll see from other places around the same time period. That's pretty much because Russia made the jump from the Middle Ages to modern times in the course of about a decade. Time travel like that is sure to set everything off-kilter.

But when I read things by the authors of the so-called "Golden Age" of Russian literature, I notice something. You see them talking about love in a completely different way than, say, the British or even the Americans. The Brits, especially, wrote these fanciful, idealized love stories, which I like to read, but aren't very realistic. The Russians, though, they write about love being mixed with hatred, about loving someone so much while simultaneously wanting to kill him/her.

The Russians get it.

I've been told over and over that love and hate can't exist together, but that's not true. They aren't mutually exclusive opposites. They're opposite sides of the same coin. The more you love someone, the greater your ability to hate him/her. The Russians embrace it and look at it as a more pure, more real kind of love.

The passion that's contained in that kind of love makes most of the ruminative, almost courtly love written about in British novels of the same time period (the Brontes excepted) look wooden and artificial. The love of British novels is like an actor who's never felt any emotion at all trying to abstractly portray what he thinks love is. Russian love is diving headlong into a freezing ocean, knowing you're going to get hypothermia at best or die at worst, but not giving a shit because it's there and it's real and it's pure, and, goddammit, that ocean means something.

Fuck me. I'm obviously Russian.

Up For Air For A Moment

I've finally regained some semblance of wellness about me again. I still feel like I've been hit by a bus, I still cough, and I still have some congestion, but ANYTHING is better than what I felt like at the beginning of the week. I'm slowly starting to catch up again, too, which is good. Of course, I'll only manage to catch up just enough to get ridiculously behind again when I go to my parents' for Christmas, but that's par for the course, yes?

I have so much to do next week, anyway. I have to finish my Christmas shopping once we're paid. I have to wrap everything. I have to clean up a little before I leave. I have to do as much work as I can before I go, so I don't feel so bad about not doing shit over the holiday. And there's something else that needs to be done, in the spirit of the season.

This song about sums it up for me right now.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream...In Raving Delirium

The good news is that we got the payment thing straightened out with the company, so that if we stick to our original Monday due date, we'll get paid in time to buy Christmas presents.

The bad news is that we STILL have to finish by Monday, and I haven't done a damn thing since the beginning of the week because I've been sick. So I have to finish 13 essays by Monday.

The ugly is that I can't work on them now, either, because I'm delirious. My hair's soaking wet from where a fever I didn't know I had apparently broke. I'm also having a hard time concentrating on anything. So despite the fact that I went to sleep around 7 pm last night and didn't get up until about 2 pm today, I think I'm going back to bed again soon.

Oh, God, I Didn't Want To Die Like This

It appears that my allergy/asthma hell has turned into some kind of legitimate sickness now, too. I was pretty sure around 2 am that I was breathing my last. I felt better when I woke up, but now my whole head is congested. Hurts like a bitch.

I went to Wal-Mart to do something for ChaosKitty, and I wasn't sure I could get back out to my truck. And then once I got home, I had a hell of a time unloading the few groceries I bought. So yeah. I now have a cold or some shit on top of the coughing that makes me want to chop my head off.

Needless to say, the work is not going to be finished tonight. As a matter of fact, I'm probably going to lay back down for a little while. Maybe I'll feel better when I get up again.

:(

I hate being sick and alone. And whiny. I need attention and love. *Cries*

I Once Was Lost, But Now I'm Just Blind

I think I just a wall.

I don't give a fuck anymore.

I have beat my head against the wall for these assholes we work for, only to be told right at Christmas time that they're going to fuck up our pay, so that we have two days to finish 30 750-essays if we want to get our money in time to do our Christmas shopping. I have done all I can do. I have jumped through hoops, dropped everything to please them, and they still keep jerking us around.

I'm done.

If I'm not going to get paid either way, I don't give a damn if you NEVER get your motherfucking essays. As a matter of fact, you can take 'em and shove 'em where the sun don't shine, lady.

In addition to that, there's the other asshole who keeps bothering us to do his site work, but won't pay us. I'm tired of jumping through his hoops, too. Either ante up or fuck off. I don't care anymore.

I've been so goddamn sick with asthma for the last two weeks that I can barely hold my head up. I cough so hard, I give myself a headache. I can't make it through more than 2 or 3 minutes without having a coughing fit. I cough so hard and so long that I come close to blacking out ****TMI**** I'm coughing so hard that I lose control of my fucking bladder from time to time, which is disgusting. ****End TMI**** My whole body hurts all over from hacking my goddamn brains out.

The albuterol isn't helping. Cough drops help some, but only while I have them in my mouth. As soon as they dissolve, it's back to the same old shit. If I sit in the hottest bath I can stand and draw the shower curtain, the humidity eases it for a bit, but as soon as I get out, I'm doing it again.

So I'm sorry if my fucking asthma INCONVENIENCES these sonsofbitches. But I'm going to bed. The coughing and the steam from the bathtub and just the general exhaustion from, you know, lack of oxygen has worn me the fuck out.

I have in my hands an iced cherry Pop-Tart and an iced chocolate Pop-Tart. I am going to eat them because they are warm and full of goodness. And then I am going to bed.

And fuck anybody who doesn't like it. If they have a big enough problem with it, they can spring for a fucking lung transplant.

****

I know this couldn't be more pathetic, but...I need someone to take care of me. :(

*Cries*


Edited to add: Oh, God. The fucker who didn't want to pay finally paid. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I'm going to go die now. And fuck that other company in the ass with a rotten 2 x 4 with rusty nails protruding. I can buy presents now, so I don't give a FUCK if they never get their shit.

Ok. Bed.

Letters To Teh Bunneh

Dear Self,

After a week of serious wheezing, chest pain, coughing, post-nasal drip, and other lovely allergic reactions, you sound like a 90-year-old. However, attempting to redneck things up doesn't always work.

For example, "Well, if honey is good for a raw throat, pancake syrup oughta work, too," was a MASSIVE fail.

Remember this next time you decide that you can fix *anything*.

~Teh Bunneh

I Have Returned Once More

I'm home now. Not that it matters.

It's cold. So cold. My daddy says it doesn't really get cold here--which is true, at least in comparison to most of the rest of the country--but that it's the humidity in the air that makes it feel so cold. I have no idea what it is, but it gets in your bones, and then it never goes away.

I don't think I'll ever be warm again.

And why does it have to be so dark? It depresses the hell out of me. I HATE fall and winter. HATE THEM. I wish I could turn into a bear and hibernate.

I was going to write more, but Daddy called, and I lost my train of thought. I'll try again later. I really need to work, anyway.

The Bunny Has Nothing Of Importance To Say

I'm still at ChaosKitty's. My intention was to go home today, but it's rainy and foggy as hell, so I stayed. I'll probably have to stay again tomorrow, too. I will be heading back on Thursday at the latest, though.

Work is getting increasingly hard. We're behind by two days on our deadline, though they assured me it wasn't a big deal. It's kind of a big deal to me, though, because I need the money. I hope like hell we can get all this done by tomorrow.

I also started today, so I am obviously hating life right now. I love hanging out with ChaosKitty, but I would love to have my own bed since my back hurts so much.

In other news, ChaosKitty and I have found a slave boy to share (we think). He seems nice enough and clearly obedient, since we had him write an essay for us because we were so behind, LOL. I think we plan on continuing to talk to him online for now, to make sure he's not a tard, and then maybe meeting him after the holidays. He lives in Atlanta, so she'll see him more than I will. I'll definitely take great pleasure in having someone to kick in nuts, etc., though. And, yes, he DOES sound like a painslut. Yay, LOL!

But, yeah, we'll have to see. I'm just sad that douchenozzle still has my fucking strap on harness. And my nylon hood. And my rather expensive armbinder. And probably some other shit, too, but those are the only ones I can think of off the top of my head, since I don't keep a running tally of my sex toys.

I'm not, however, sad enough to bother speaking to his hypocritical ass in order to ask for them back. I feel certain that hell will freeze over and the devil will be buying ice skates before that happens.

Fucker.

Not that I'm bitter.

*Eyeroll*

Cough, Wheeze, Cough, Ad Nauseam

Well, we didn't meet our deadline. Or, rather, we aren't going to. ChaosKitty still has 11 750-word essays to write, all of which I'll have to proofread and format and add all the links that they want done in the most confusing, roundabout way. I have one more essay to write, too, but maybe that won't take long.

I'm so sick. I've been struggling with allergies/asthma all weekend. My albuterol inhaler won't kill the cough. Cough drops sort of work, but only while I have them in my mouth. As soon as they dissolve completely, I start hacking again. My throat is sore, and my voice is wrecked. My whole body aches all over from the strain of coughing so much.

Every time I lay down and try to sleep, I cough and cough and cough some more. Then, I wheeze. Then, I cough. Then, I cry. Then, I cough even more. I suck on cough drops, but I'm afraid to go to sleep with one in. With my luck, I'll choke on it and die. *Eyeroll*

God, this sucks. I've walked around in a fog all weekend from oxygen deprivation. As soon as we can finish this, I'm going home, and I think ChaosKitty is coming with me. But we have to finish first, though I'm afraid I won't be able to get it done if I can't breathe.

I hate my life.

Sadness

I should be working, as my deadline is tomorrow. But what am I doing? Sitting here in ChaosKitty's bedroom, sharing old pictures. Her with her ex-husband; me with them.

*Sigh*

I feel like I'm a million years old.

Well, now that I've sufficiently depressed myself, I think I'll go try to write more bullshit. :(

I am still livin' with your ghost....

How?

How do you tell someone how much you care about them and how sorry you are if that person thinks that every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie?

:(

On The Road Again

Turns out poor Kitty is sick this week, and she's not going to be able to make it on Friday. :( I hope she starts feeling better soon. Maybe so.

ChaosKitty's broke, having given the entirety of her last paycheck to her parents because THEY didn't have any money. I have her medication for next month, and she doesn't know when she'll be able to come here. So I'm going to go take it to her. She's also having some serious problems, so I'm going to see if we can't find a Georgia mental health clinic to shoot her into.

I don't think the Lamictal is helping her like it helped me. We're going to see if we can get her on something else that will work better (and faster, so she doesn't have to wait so long to see if it's going to help or not). Trileptal, Depakote, Tegretol, lithium, even, if we have to. Or an antipsychotic. Or both. We'll see. Too bad most of the atypicals are still under patent and most of the typicals are fucking ridiculous when it comes to side effects.

But she's going to get help. I'm not abandoning someone who genuinely needs help. I've been there--sick, scared, no one to turn to. Fuck that. I won't let it happen to someone I care about if I can possibly do anything to stop it.

Ok. Going to finish packing and get out of here.

I Hardly Know What To Do With Myself

Ok, so I spent the evening working on some shit that should drive traffic to my sites, rather than working on clients' shit. I know I probably shouldn't have done that, but if I'd had to write one more 750+ word "essay" today, I might've shanked someone. Probably me, since there's no one else here, LOL.

Anyway, since I'm not in the mood to inflict stab wounds on myself tonight, I decided I'd work on something different for a change.

I've finished all I set out to do tonight, which is sort of odd, given that it's barely after midnight. I don't want to start on anything else, though, so I think I'm going to call it a night a couple of hours early. It'll probably do me some good.

When I go to bed, I hope I can avoid the nightmares. They're hardly ever very far away, but lately, they've been a constant companion. I have no idea what causes them. I mean, I'm sure it's because I have shit on my mind, but when DON'T I have shit on my mind? Why has it just gotten so bad recently?

Also, could everyone I love stop dying in my dreams? That'd be great. :(

Wow...Productivity

So, after over a week of going without, I got a frappucino (cafe vanilla, what else?) at Starbucks on my way home from buying groceries. Apparently, depriving yourself of caffeine for that long, then getting a venti makes you productive as hell. Of course, I wasn't *completely* deprived of caffeine--just of the sugary goodness of frappucinos.

I managed to get a lot accomplished today. I also managed to do a lot of fucking around, LOL. But I think I did ok, anyway.

I've pretty much worked myself into exhaustion now. Thank God. It shuts my brain up so I can sleep when I do that. So I'm thinking of a snack and then bed because I need to do some more work tomorrow. I'm ahead of the game this week, and I'd like to stay that way for when Kitty and ChaosKitty roll into town. :)

For ChaosKitty & Me

Birthday, In Retrospect

Well, my birthday didn't suck nearly as much as I was afraid it would.

ChaosKitty, feeling guilty for not being here, though it wasn't her fault she couldn't make it, wished me happy birthday at least twenty times, starting at midnight, then on throughout the day. After I got up this afternoon, she'd posted on my Facebook wall a couple of times and continued to tell me until it was no longer November 28th. I expect she'll tell me happy belated birthday several times when she gets here, too, LOL.

Kitty met me in Pell City for dinner. I was really grateful for this, too, since I so didn't want to spend the entirety of my birthday alone. It was a lot of fun. Kitty is great to hang out with, and we celebrated as best we could, surrounded by singing--yes, singing--children. She's coming on Friday, too, so I expect there will be more fun times to be had with those two soon.

My deepest, most hidden wish didn't come true, but I wasn't holding out a lot of hope that it would, anyway.

I'm tired. I've worked all day, and I didn't sleep well last night. It's bedtime, I think.

It's My Blog, And I'll Whine If I Want To

Ok. I know this is stupid. But you know what? Fuck it. If I want to whine, I'll damn well whine. I doubt anyone's going to see it, anyway, and if they do, they shouldn't be here reading if they don't want to see me whining.

My birthday is Monday. I will be 28, though in Bunny years, that's 22 because when I hit 25, I started going backwards. I am terrified of getting old. I'm not so much afraid of dying, but of aging...because I'm a vain motherfucker.

If that's shallow, I'm sorry. If it's vapid, I hate it. Tough shit. That's me. I've always been vain, shallow, and narcissistic. I doubt I'm going to change in my old age. The hell with aging gracefully. Old age will have to drag me kicking and screaming.

I've been going gray since I was 15, but that's nothing a little hair dye can't cure. But I noticed a couple of days ago that I'm getting fine lines at the corners of my eyes. And there's nothing that can be done about that. My face has started the inevitable downhill plunge, and I'm powerless to do anything as I watch my youth slip away.

I don't care if I'm being overdramatic. That's how it feels. I'm rapidly hurrying into the autumn of my life, and I'm not happy with it.

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my 30th birthday will involve me locking myself in the bathroom with a bottle of Jack Daniel's and probably cutting myself in an oh-so-emo manner while I sit in a hot bath and wail over my lost youth.

I feel like I'm losing everything.

The worst thing, though, is that I'm going to be alone on my birthday. I know, it's stupid. But I've never been alone on my birthday. ChaosKitty was going to come, but due to circumstances beyond her control, she won't be able to make it until Tuesday or Wednesday. So, yes, I will spend the whole day alone and bemoaning my sad, sad circumstances.

I'm glad ChaosKitty's coming, though. Really, really glad. I even found out that she's been scheming to buy me A LAPTOP for Christmas because she knows I need one and can't buy one myself. I told her I didn't want her to do that, of course, and that I didn't do all the things I did for her in hopes of getting something in return, anyway. She kept insisting that if she could scrape up the money, she was going to do it. I really hope she doesn't because I'll feel unbelievably guilty if she does.

But you know what? Honestly, just having someone give that much of a shit about me is enough to make me cry. Nobody's ever even *thought* of doing something that awesome for me before to my knowledge. It's...amazing.

But despite that, I'm still depressed as hell about Monday. I feel like it's foreshadowing for the rest of my life--getting old and being alone.

People keep asking me what I want for my birthday and Christmas. I give noncommittal answers because a.) there's really nothing I'm just dying for, and b.) if I can't have what I really want/need, what's the fucking point, anyway?

Honestly? I'd give anything in the world just to hear their voices, to hear them tell me happy birthday. But it'll be a cold day in hell before that happens, so I'll probably just buy a bottle of $3 wine and "celebrate" by drinking all by myself.

*Sigh* I hate my life right now. :(

Disturbing

Last night, I had one of the most disturbing dreams I've ever had--quite possibly the most disturbing dream I've ever had. It was incredibly realistic and vivid. I could also feel emotions as the dream me was having them without the real me realizing it was a dream, which doesn't happen very often. Usually, my conscious mind breaks through and goes, "Oh, it's just a dream. Wake up, stupid." That didn't happen this time.

I don't know how to explain the beginning, as it's all rather convoluted. It doesn't matter, though, because it doesn't have a whole lot to do with the story itself, anyway. So I'll basically just start in the middle instead.

I dreamed that the three of them were all living in my town: Kitty, J., and him. They all lived together, and I was living alone or else with ChaosKitty. I'm not entirely sure because ChaosKitty was with me a lot of the time, but I don't know for sure if she was living with me or not. I guess it doesn't matter either way.

Anyway, I ran into the three of them in town a lot. I tried to avoid them, but I couldn't. It hurt me every time I saw them, and I talked to ChaosKitty about it a lot, as she was the only one I could talk to about it. (Funny how that imitated life, huh?) She told me that I needed to approach them in a conciliatory manner and try to talk to them if I wanted to mend fences because she could see that my being at odds with them was causing me huge amounts of pain. (Also a funny imitation of life.)

So I made up my mind that the next time I saw them, I'd talk to them.

Then, something happened. Everyone in town was evacuated into two (large) abandoned buildings. I have no idea why we were all relocated, but dream logic applies, I suppose.

ChaosKitty and I were put into one building, and the three of them were put in the other one. Everyone was restless and bored, but there wasn't a whole lot we could do. ChaosKitty and I sat by the window, watching the sun go down and talking.

We were still sitting there after it got dark. Off in the distance, we saw a brightly-lit object approaching in the sky. (I think it was probably a helicopter, but I'm not sure.) I pointed it out to her and asked her what she thought it was. She had no idea, either. We watched it fly closer and closer and noticed that it seemed to be flying awfully low to the ground.

It swung around toward us, and we saw that a searchlight had been switched on. The light swept over the building we were in and landed on the building the three of them were in. Suddenly, the thing opened fire. It wasn't a bomb--I think it was machine gun fire. They sprayed it all over the building as we sat there, paralyzed and unable to even breathe.

Once the people inside the thing were sure they'd shot the building up enough, they flew away. I jumped up to run to other building to see if the three of them were ok. ChaosKitty was right on my heels because she wasn't going to let me go in alone.

It looked like a war zone in there. There were dead bodies everywhere. We didn't recognize anyone at first, so we just kept picking our way through the people and trying to find them.

Finally, I stumbled across him. He was alive, but so shell-shocked that he was practically catatonic. There was no sign of the other two. ChaosKitty and I kept at him, trying to see if he knew where they were or what had happened to them. Eventually, we managed to discern that J. was dead, according to him. He had no idea what had happened to Kitty.

I left him with ChaosKitty and went to look for the others. I couldn't find either of them. I became increasingly frantic, but before I could uncover any more information, all the ambulatory people were herded out. ChaosKitty and I led him out. He staggered around, his arms over both our shoulders so that we could support him, the thousand-yard stare in his eyes. He was broken. Every now and then he'd look up at me with his unfocused eyes and whisper that he loved me, and then he'd look away again, but that was all.

We got him inside the other building and found a place to sit him down. While we waited for someone to attend to us, ChaosKitty and I talked. I told her how guilty I felt that I hadn't warned the people in the next building that something was coming, but she told me that there was no way we could've known what was about to happen. Even if we'd told them something was flying overhead, she said, they probably wouldn't have thought anything of it, either.

Someone--a doctor, I think--came to attend to him. I left him in that person's hands, so that I could go back to look for Kitty and J. ChaosKitty, of course, came along with me. She wouldn't let me go alone. We had no confirmation that J. was really dead, but we didn't know if she was alive, either. Equally bad was the fact that we had no report at all about Kitty, for better or for worse. Right before we stepped into the shot-up building the second time, I woke up.

When I awakened and realized it was all a dream, I couldn't do anything. I lay there, stock-still, barely able to even breathe. Apparently, upon awakening, I was the one who was shell-shocked.

When I was finally able to move again, I got up to go to the bathroom. Daddy was sitting in the den and said something to me, but I wasn't even able to say anything intelligible. I came back to bed and lay there some more, unable to do much of anything.

Eventually, I was able to gather my wits about me enough to pick up my phone and text Kitty to see if she was ok. I do shit like this semi-regularly because I have terrible dreams a lot, so she didn't think there was anything out of the ordinary. She confirmed that she was ok, and I didn't really elaborate on the dream, and that was that.

Still, somehow, that dream affected me in ways I can't even put into words. I don't want to go back to sleep tonight for fear that I'll dream it or something similar again. I'm not sure I've ever had a dream disturb me quite like that one did.

I have no idea if the dream itself means anything or not, but it was brutal, either way. I wish I could describe how it affected me, but I can't. It was like I woke up without a soul, as if I'd somehow lost it in the horrors of the dream world. The (presumed) death of J., his loss of touch with reality, and Kitty's disappearance all worked together to make me a completely empty shell of a human being until I was sure I was awake. And even then, it took a little while.

God, the words just sound so paltry. I can't explain it. I really can't. But just thinking of it makes me feel sick, so I'm going to stop talking about it now and lay down to read happy things before bed, in hopes that that will prevent me from having another dream like that one again.

Dear God, PLEASE don't ever let me have another one like that ever again.

Things I Am Thankful For

I figure, since it's Thanksgiving--or was until 40 minutes ago--I should write a post about what I'm thankful for. That way, when I get completely overwhelmed with life, I can go back and look at this list and remember why I'm proud to be alive...theoretically, anyway.

So, in no particular order, here's the list of shit I'm thankful for.

1.) I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head, something to eat, and all the basic necessities taken care of.

2.) Corollary to Number One: I'm thankful that I'm able to accomplish this by myself with the one (basically useless) talent I have in this world. My lifelong dream has been to support myself with my writing and regardless of the fact that it's really not the most noble kind of writing, I am still making my way in this world with my pen--or keyboard, as it were. So at the age of *cough, mumble, cough*, I have already managed to achieve one of my life's greatest ambitions. The other one is getting rich...and I'm working on that one.

3.) I'm thankful for the miracle of modern medicine, without which I would be raving in the street somewhere at best or locked up in an insane asylum at worst. I'm also grateful that I live in a time where there are drugs that can control my symptoms without any really bad side effects. The gagging and the transient Parkinson's-like tremor are annoying, but not nearly as bad as being BATSHIT CRAZY.

4.) I'm thankful for the friends I have who've been there for me when I needed them.

5.) I'm thankful that I'm still alive because if not for the combination of Numbers Three and Four, I probably wouldn't be. Life may suck, but as long as I'm here, it has the chance of getting better. I'm not one to back down from a fight.

6.) I'm thankful that I realized that there were certain people in this world who had/have a vested interest in "keeping me crazy" or keeping me believing that I'm crazy. Because of this realization, I've been able to keep these people at arm's length and not allow them to destabilize me.

7.) I'm thankful that Kitty has given me not a second or third or fourth chance, but probably a 9,527,413,086th chance. I'm lucky to have her in my life, and I'd be a fool not to recognize that. I'm glad she's been willing to give me chance after chance after chance that I didn't deserve.

8.) I'm thankful that a lot of the mysteries of the Universe that have bothered me for a long time are finally starting to become clear, at least in my eyes. Seek and ye shall find, indeed. I hate to sound like an annoying church person, but I'm grateful that God, whomever he/she/it/we/they are, has/have allowed me to learn what I've learned and understand what I'm coming to understand. This probably deserves its own post, but I've written 6 750-word essays tonight, and my eyes are burning, so that'll probably have to wait 'til some other time.

9.) I'm thankful that my mind is finally (mostly) quiet and that I can look at myself in the mirror nowadays and (mostly) like what I see.

10.) I'm thankful for being able to be self-employed in this shitty economy. I'm happy that my business is growing like it is, and I'm glad I've been able to give some other people a helping hand, small though it is, as well.

11.) I'm thankful for the peace of mind I'm slowly finding through combinations of Numbers One through Ten.

12.) Obligatory family reference here, which includes some people who aren't related to me by blood and excludes some who are.

13.) (Lucky Number Thirteen.) I'm thankful for the hope I see for the future and the partial redemption I have achieved. I can only hope that this trend will continue, and I will be able to achieve complete redemption. (No, I don't mean that in a religious way.) God knows, I've gone to hell and back multiple times, and I've clawed my way out inch by precious inch of this dark, dark hole. Now that I'm out, I feel that I owe it to others to try to redeem myself. I also feel that I deserve to be happy, probably for the first time in my life.

So there you have it. All the things I can think of that I'm thankful for.

Perceptions

I was talking to ChaosKitty online a couple of days ago, and the conversation turned to the time when she, Kitty, and I all lived in the house together. We were trying to recall some of the things that happened during the spring and early summer of 2010. Turns out neither of us have very good memories of the time. Whether it's due to our blocking it out or our brains being fried from being so crazy (or both), I don't know.

We were both at pretty shitty points in our lives then. She was manic/mixed, doing quite a few drugs--some prescription, some not--and getting totally plastered every night. I was manic, flying into rages, and randomly binge drinking at times myself. There are very big chunks of memory that are just...gone. For both of us.  (And, really, it's probably for the best, given the circumstances.)

Anyway, we were discussing the fact that, while we'd managed to make everyone around us hate us, we'd hadn't managed to alienate one another. Neither of us could figure how we'd pulled that one off. We still haven't, really.

ChaosKitty did pull out an interesting theory, though, which was that perhaps we appear completely different to others than we appear to ourselves. I knew she was having a hard time, and she knew I was having a hard time, despite the fact that neither of us had a whole hell of a lot of insight at the time. (She may or may not have been hallucinating people walking across our backyard--that may never be conclusively determined--and I was convinced that the second I closed my eyes at night, demons or something equally terrible were going to jump out of the walls and attack us.)

I think she's right. I believe that the truly batshit recognize it in others and are willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Other people, however, just think we're assholes and treat us as such.

I'm not saying we *weren't* assholes. We may have been. I'm just saying that we probably didn't *mean* to be assholes and that we recognized that in one another, though no one else around us realized it.

Ok, I was going to try to end this with something poignant, but, honestly, it's 5 am, and I'm tired. I'll just leave you with a little MB20, since this is Down The Rabbit Hole With Bunny, and "we're all mad here."

Well...Doesn't Get Much Clearer Than That

I went with Kitty to the Chinese buffet today. This was my fortune when I cracked open my fortune cookie.

These shots were made with my webcam because the batteries in my digital cam are dead, hence the shittiness of the pics. In case you can't read it, it says, "Take that chance you've been considering."

Hmm...perhaps I will. Perhaps I will.

Kitty Time :)

So I spent the evening with Kitty. We didn't really do a whole lot. Hung out in my living room awhile, went out to eat, picked up a movie from RedBox, and sat on the couch, sharing my old comforter and trying not freeze. That was basically it. She's asleep in my other bedroom now. I got hungry and decided to eat something and get online, so here I am. She has strict orders to wake me up when she gets up, so she doesn't just have to hang around boredly while I sleep, so I'll be going to bed before long myself because I know she usually gets up early-ish.

I had a really good time tonight. I'm glad she came, and I'm glad she decided to stay the night, so we can hang out for a little while before she has to go tomorrow.


Things have changed a lot for me in the past 3 or 4 months. This coincides with my finally being stabilized (minus a few blips here and there). I thought I was stable over the spring and summer, but I wasn't. The cycle had been narrowed, but just because you make the amplitude of the wave shorter (I think it's amplitude--I don't remember physics that well) doesn't mean that the wave stops moving altogether.

I feel completely different now. Not only is my cycling basically gone, but my entire perception of things has changed also. I dunno. It's weird.

Like, at one time, I used to throw this saw at people: "What's more important to you? The relationship, or being right?" While, yes, I have been fucked over a lot, I'm realizing that it doesn't matter so much now. I guess I thought it applied to other people but not to me, or I just really didn't see that I was doing the same thing I accused everyone else of.

In the past, being right was more important--I didn't realize it then, but I do now. Now, it's the relationship that's most important.

Things with Kitty may never be the same as they were. But I'm content with just being able to sit on the couch with her and watch a movie because there was a time when that couldn't have happened--a time when I thought it'd never happen again.

I guess you have to go to a really, really dark place to see what's most important in your life. The people I love are important. Being successful is important. Living my life to the fullest and the best way I can is important. The rest is just bullshit in the end.

All the drama, all the games, the need to always be right? Not important anymore.

In the words of the inestimable Eminem: "This ain't some bullshit; people don't usually come back this way from a place that was dark as I was in, just to get to this place." Not just everybody gets a chance for redemption. I'm going to grab that chance and hold on to it with all I've got...because, really? It is all I've got.

I'm Awesome, But Tired

Ok, so despite the jubilant post earlier--which I have a good reason for making--I'm tired as FUCK. I love being self-employed. I love freelancing. But, goddamn, I wish I could get a break. I mean, yes, I can easily just *not* work for a day. But when I do that, I get so behind and feel so guilty the entire time for not working that it doesn't feel like much of a break, anyway.

I got so pissed earlier. ChaosKitty and I turned in our bi-monthly load of crap last Monday and sent our invoices in. They're supposed to send the checks the day we send the invoices. The checks come from Boston, so if they're sent on Monday, ChaosKitty usually gets hers on Thursday, and I get mine on Friday.

As of yesterday, they weren't here yet. So I sent off an email to the payroll lady. When I got up this morning, I had a reply. Apparently, they weren't sent off until Monday--as in two days ago, a fucking WEEK late--and nobody felt it important enough to let us know. The owners were out of town, she said, and she couldn't get authorization to pay us. Which I thought was really interesting, given that I know for a fact that the owner was on vacation.

I was so mad. I sent a not-very-nice email to the payroll saying that while I understood that things happened, it would've been VERY nice if she had let us know what was going on, as we could've had the things overnighted to us on Monday if we had known. (As it is, I'll be lucky to get the sonofabitch by Friday.)

Then, I decided, fuck it, I'll email the owner. I sent an even bitchier email to the owner about it, and I basically got a "Fuck you" in reply. I'm still mad as hell, but nobody seems to be willing to do anything.

I'm not one of those people that an "I'm sorry" or an "I apologize" alone will appease. Even if you're genuinely sorry (which these people obviously are not), I need something more than that. I need to see you be proactive in preventing it from happening again, and I need you to make some sort of reparations. Yes, she couldn't do much this week now that the checks are already in the mail. But why not offer to overnight next week's free of charge to us, since they, too, will be delayed because of the holidays? (We normally have to pay $18.50 out of our checks to have them overnighted, which is why I don't do it.)

But no. They just don't give a flying fuck one way or another if we get it or not.

Honestly, these people have jerked us around so much that I really don't want to work for them anymore. I'm going to finish this project like I said I was going to do, but I don't expect they'll try to hire us again, which is perfectly all right with me. And if they do, I'm probably not going to accept.

I mean, this bullshit they want done is so mind-numbing that it drains you physically. I've been out of new and fresh ideas for weeks, so I've been recycling the same shit over and over. I don't have a lot of time to work on my other ventures. I don't have a lot of time to devote to my other clients. It fucking sucks. I'm seriously thinking about trying to speed through as much of it as possible, so we can get finished with it sooner and not have to deal with this pack of assholes anymore.

I'm just so goddamn tired all the time, and I don't understand why. My body aches like I've hiked a hundred miles. My brain doesn't fire on all its cylinders ever anymore. I wish it could be different.

*Sigh* No sense in bitching about this. I'm used to being tired, but I wish the mental well hadn't run dry.

I'm still at ChaosKitty's, but I'm going home tomorrow. I'd intended to go home today, but a.) it was storming, and b.) it wasn't like my check came, anyway. But I will definitely be going tomorrow and getting as much done as possible because Kitty is coming on Friday. That'll be a welcome respite. :)

I've started taking my Lamictal at night, which helps a little with the exhaustion factor, I think. But around 11 pm, I'm starting to seriously drag...which sucks, given that my brain won't get in gear until after the sun goes down most of the time. That's why I'm headed to bed in a few minutes. :(

My plan is to just sort of coast along until after Thanksgiving and my birthday (and, God, I don't really even want to think about how old I'll be) and then try to kick-start myself and bust my ass until the first of the year. Other people's purse strings seem to loosen then, so I'm hoping that everything will be in place and waiting for that to happen. That way, when I drop these assholes or they drop me, we won't miss their money because more will be coming in.

I just feel like life would be so much easier if I didn't have to do it alone. But what do you do? You put one foot in front of the other, try not to think about it too much, and push forward.

If you're going through hell...keep going.

Winston Churchill

If The Bitches Hate, Then Let 'Em Hate And Watch The Money Pile Up

Two new contractors. Several new web designs. A new (to me) domain name that's actually 3 years old. Money soon to follow.

I am the best motherfucker in the SEO game. The only people who can beat me are the ones who can throw more money at it than I can. If all things were equal...I couldn't be beaten.

If that's narcissistic, I don't give a fuck. It's the truth.



Money over everything
That's my attitude
Still the baddest bitch in the game
That's my attitude

So Fucking Sick Of This Shit

So...in one day, I've been called a liar, a cheat, a bitch, an asshole, and a hypocrite all at different times. I reckon I've got all the fields covered, huh?

Yayayayay!

Remember how I was bitching about never getting out of the house? Well, this is the third weekend in a row that I'm getting out of the house. Yay! LOL.

Weekend before last, it was with Kitty in Birmingham. Last weekend, I went to my parents' (which is sort of a meh thing, but it DID get me out of the house). This weekend, it's going to be with ChaosKitty in Atlanta. I'm really excited.

Ok, going to pack now. :)

Greatest Thing Ever

After scaling back my Lamictal to 150 mgs. a couple of weeks ago, I can't stop gagging. Just...randomly. At less than 150, it wasn't as bad, and at more than 150, it wasn't as bad. Unfortunately, right now, 150 is where it appears I need to be. So I gag uncontrollably every morning when I brush my teeth, which means I'm never able to get them clean enough to suit me. I can't use mouthwash in hopes of helping it out, either, because that makes me gag, too, as does flossing my teeth. I gag when I think of anything even mildly distasteful. Sometimes, I just do it for no reason. Everything's fine, I'm going along good, and then, suddenly, out of the blue, I'm dry-heaving.

Fucking seizure med.

Anyway, I also take a Super-B vitamin complex because a.) Lamictal depletes folic acid (B9), and b.) I go batshit if I don't have enough B12, which is a common enough problem among the population. I'd been doing the sublingual drops, but then I ran out. When I went to the store to buy more, all they had were the giant horse pills, so I sucked it up and bought them. And now...you guessed it--they make me gag when I try to take them.

So I went back to Wal-Mart today, since my PayPal and other transfers finally hit my bank account. I was looking for the drops and came upon God's gift to crazy people who gag: gummy Super-B complex vitamins.

All my prayers have been answered. Now, if I could only figure out a way to make dental hygiene easier....

Good To Know

Also? Apparently, when I panic and have a meltdown, I dry-heave incessantly.

Thank you, Lamictal.

*Sigh*

Lately, I've been runnin'
Into our old friends
And somewhere in the small talk
Someone always asks where you been
So I tell them what you told me
And they can't believe we're through
They ask me what I'm doing now
And in case you're wondering, too....

I breathe in
And breathe out
Put one foot in front of the other
Take one day at a time
Until you find
I'm that someone you can't live without
But until then
I'll breathe in
And breathe out

Now I've got every reason
To find someone new
'Cause you swore up and down to me
That I've seen the last of you
But the way you loved me
Girl, it left me hoping and holding on
So until this world stops turnin' 'round
And my heart believes that you're gone....

I breathe in
And breathe out
Put one foot in front of the other
Take one day at a time
Until you find
I'm that someone you can't live without
But until then
I'll breathe in
And breathe out

Yes, we were meant to be
Girl, there's no doubt
And if it takes the rest of my life
For you to figure it out....

I breathe in
And breathe out
Put one foot in front of the other
Take one day at a time
Until you find
I'm that someone you can't live without
But until then
Oh, I'll breathe in
And breathe out

Even When I Sleep

I often view sleep as an escape from the things that haunt me when I'm awake, but it isn't always so.

I dreamed of them last night.

And Kitty, too.

I don't think it will ever end.



:(

Free At Last

Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!

I just sent the best fuck you email to my old company ever. Perfectly professional and composed...but definitely a "fuck you, go die in a fire" email.

I feel so much better now.

Fun Times

I had a great time with Kitty tonight. I'm so tired that I don't think I can say much more, but I'll elaborate tomorrow maybe. Kitty is a wonderful cat, and the cat ears I bought her today suited her perfectly. :)

Yay!

I'm excited. I'm getting out of the house today, LOL. And I'm going to hang out with the Kitty-cat! :D

We're going to eat at Red Lobster, then maybe go to Boo at the Zoo. The only thing that bothers me is that we're meeting in Trussville. That's going to get to me, I know. But I'll tamp it down for her sake and just try to have fun and not think about it. I'm sure it'll be fun. It'll just be those first few minutes where it bothers me.

Ok, I have to go pick up the surprise I'm bringing her.

Yayayayayayayay!

Caffeine: The Answer To All Life's Problems

Last night, I took a mental health day. I really needed to work, but I felt so...shitty, for lack of a better word. I gathered together basically every snack food in my house, got a Powerade, and went to the couch to watch movies. I watched The Little Mermaid first, thus confirming my undying hatred of Ariel's stupid ass. Then, it was Beauty and the Beast, my favorite Princess movie. Shortly thereafter, I took a sleeping pill and went to bed, in hopes that it'd make me feel better.

I woke up feeling like hell again. It was all I could do to force myself to get up and go to the mailbox to see if my check was there. Luckily, I did because my check [i]was[/i] there. I took it to the bank and went to McDonald's for a mocha frappe. (I was on the wrong end of town for a cafe vanilla frappucino from Starbucks.)

I don't know if it's the caffeine or the fact that I dropped the Lamictal by a pill today, but I feel a little better. I went down to 150 mg. from 175 because I figured that'd be better than upping Wellbutrin from 150 to 300. (The Wellbutin are extended-release pills, so I can't cut the fuckers in half.)

So, yeah, I imagine it's a caffeine/Wellbutrin activation high from the Lamictal reduction layered on top of depression, but I'll take anything I can get right now.

And now I work.

ETA: This post from Hyperbole and a Half (which I love) pretty well sums it up. Adventures In Depression

I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Do It

Well, seems it's official. I'm depressed. Goddammit. This hasn't happened since I started Wellbutrin last November. I'd hoped it wouldn't happen again.

But, as bad as it sounds, it's still better than being manic.

The work stuff has overwhelmed me. ChaosKitty is having a hard time keeping up her end of the work, and it's all falling to me. All my clients expect to have their hands held. I'm working for peanuts because I need to work, and, despite the fact that these stupid customers are getting premium work for bargain-basement prices, they feel the need to nitpick every goddamn thing.

It's making me sick. I cry a lot. I don't sleep well. I just toss and turn and fret. I need to get away for a little while, but when will I ever have the chance?

I hate everything right now.



**Edited to add**

You know what? I think I need an evening away from the computer and the misery it's inflicting on me. Despite the fact that I need to get some work done, I'm going to go and get some snack foods and a blanket and curl up on the couch and watch a cute movie of some sort.

Aaaaand if that doesn't work, I'm either going down with the Lamictal or up with the Wellbutrin tomorrow.

I Know It's Stupid, But...

So I slept way too late today. I've been doing that lately. I probably need to catch up from what I *didn't* get over the last week and a half.

Anyway, I digress.

I got on Facebook, as usual, because ChaosKitty and T. usually have something hilarious to say that pertains to our work, and today was no different. I was scrolling down through my feed, and then I saw something that was like being sucker-punched in the gut.

There was a picture that Kitty was tagged in, from last weekend, apparently. Kitty and J. were both in it. There was another that she's using for her profile picture, but it's not as bad.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't curl up in bed and cry.

Which is something I've been doing a lot of lately.


Kitty got online shortly thereafter. She asked me how I was, and I slipped and said, "Not worth a shit," before I realized what I'd typed. Then, she asked what was up, and I covered by saying it wasn't a big deal, but thanks for asking, etc. I almost said something to her about it, but I didn't want to a.) sound like an asshole, or b.) seem like I was blaming her it.

So I'm writing here instead.

It hurts for several reasons. First of all, it's just that she's there with her, and I'm not. Secondly, it's the fact that they do things with her that I flat begged them to do with me. They told me they just didn't do things like that, but I knew it was a lie. They do those things with their friends and now with Kitty, too.

So it's obviously just me.

There is, apparently, something inherently flawed within me that makes people ashamed of me. There's something that's just not good enough. I should be used to it by now because it's always been that way for me, but it still hurts when I'm reminded of it. It's not just them--it's everybody.



And you know? It's even worse that she didn't even think me worthy of an answer to my email. :(


Ok. Self-pity moment over.

Back to the salt mines for me.



Livin' risky
Never scared
Wander closer to the edge
Nothin' valued
Think no fear
Always wonderin' why you're here

All your purposes are gone
Nothin's right
And nothin's wrong

Nothin' ventured
Nothin' gained
Feel no sorrow
Feel no pain

Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live
And let me learn

Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....

Lookin' forward
Not behind
Everybody's gotta cross that line
Free me now
Give me a place
Keep me caged and free the beast

Fallin' faster
Time goes by
Fear is not seen
Through these eyes

What there was will never be
Now I'm blind and cannot see

Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn

Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....

Kiss me while I'm still alive
Kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms
Let me live and let me learn

Now I'll follow my own way
And I'll live on to another damn day
Freedom carries sacrifice
Remember when this was my life....

What Have I Become?

It is 6:40 am. I haven't been to bed yet. I've been working since about 6:00 pm on this stupid project that's due Monday, among other things.

I rarely leave the house anymore, except to go pick up some fast food, just to get out. As I was driving to McDonald's today (because McRib is back, motherfuckers!), I was thinking about this and realized what I was doing.

I get up, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, take my meds, shower, get dressed (if I'm going out), eat, and then work. And work. And work. And work. I work until I'm exhausted, then I go to bed until it's time to get up and do it all over again the next day.

Of course, it's not a terrible life. I can sit on my bed and work naked, which I normally do. I can stop and eat whenever. I can play games of Facebook while I work without having to worry about getting caught by my boss. I can make my own hours. I can just NOT work one day if I don't want to.

But...I've realized that I concentrate on work to the exclusion of everything else for a reason. It's the same reason I work all day until I'm absolutely give out and crash into bed.

It's because, somewhere along the line, I became unable to handle my thoughts.

Yes, I know. ME, of all people. ME, the one who likes to be alone. The one who enjoys solitude and draws strength from it. The one who takes pleasure in thinking "deep thoughts" and often solves the problems of the whole Universe (in MY head, anyway).

When the hell did I become unable to be alone with my thoughts?

I'm not sure, actually. It's snuck up on me quietly. I know I prefer to have company nowadays, but, unfortunately, my friends are few and far between. So, mostly, I work to exhaustion (with music playing in the background for extra thought-control) and read until I fall asleep to keep everything squashed down. It's not at all unusual for me to stay up working until my whole body is trembling from exhaustion and starts shutting down on me involuntarily--like right now.

There's just so much I don't want to--can't bear to--think about anymore.

I was talking with ChaosKitty earlier. I said that even though it's a blessing that my thoughts don't race like they do when I'm not on meds, it's also sort of a curse. You see, when they race, at least they depart as fast as they arrive. When they're not racing, the depressing ones hang around a hell of a lot longer.

So I guess in that way, it's better that I don't allow myself to be alone with them, to listen to them. But I also know that some day, somewhere, somehow, I'm going to have to deal with them. And I don't look forward to that shit AT ALL.

On Hypersexuality

I've been meaning to write this one, but I haven't had the time. And, well, to be honest, I still don't have the time, but since today has been completely wasted, dealing with morons, I don't suppose it matters is I waste some more time.

So. Hypersexuality. Yes.

I've always had an enormous sex drive. ALWAYS. There are multiple reasons for this--excessive testosterone, an adventurous and sensuous nature, and, yes, being batshit crazy.

Even when I was on Depo, which is notorious for fucking with your sex drive, mine was still abnormally high. Not as high as it was when I *wasn't* on Depo, mind you, but still much higher than the normal person's.

A lot of times, it's like I'm being driven by a force more powerful than myself. I HAVE to fuck somebody, somewhere, or I have no peace. It's often more a compulsion than a normal human function. Of course, it almost always makes me feel awful about myself after I go out and fuck whoever; don't think there's not a reason I've made myself into a hermit. The less I go out and the fewer people I have contact with, the less likely I am to go fuck somebody when the compulsion starts driving me.

It's only been recently that I realized the connection to my illness. In all the literature, you read about how those crazy bipolars will fuck anything that walks during a manic phase. But I guess it never dawned on me that just because I don't go out trolling bars for hookups--which I never did, actually--doesn't mean I don't have the same damn problem.

I still have the compulsions, but they're more under control now than they were even 6 months ago.

I think what bothers me most about it, though, is the way it's been taken advantage of by men. I'm not talking about random dudes, really. They didn't know any better. I'm talking about the several who knew me and knew me well. They knew that between my way-too-high sex drive and my inability to tell people no, I'd fuck them whenever, wherever, however, and damn the consequences, even if I really didn't want to. It's the last part that really gets me.

I'm not saying I don't have a responsibility for it. I do, to some extent. But I just feel like yet another aspect of my personality and my crazy was exploited for other people's gain, and I really don't like it.

Self-Pity, Part 746

Fangbunny and I are staying up late watching shitty music from our younger days on YouTube. It ended up spawning a conversation about regrets.

You know what? I can't even write this post. It all still weighs far too heavily on my mind. Can I just get a time machine back to, say, 2002 and start all over again?

Fuck. I guess the fall's finally getting to me. :(

But, you know, the older I get, the more I wish I'd never lived at all.

Signs From The Universe....

Well, from all indications, I need to get laid.

Last night, I not one but two extended sex dreams, LOL. The first was about regular sex with a guy I used to know, and the second was an extremely kinky, fucked up dream involving some random dude I don't know (but apparently knew in the dream). Also, ChaosKitty was inexplicably there in the second dream. Not doing anything. Just there.

Appears someone's trying to tell me something.

More Letters I'll Never Send--Though I Should

Dear X,

Talk to me? Please? My motivations are not what you think they are. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you won't lose anything by talking to me except maybe a little of your time. You might even gain something you never imagined gaining.

~A Bunny Who Still Loves You, Regardless Of What You Believe



Dear Y,

You are beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and everything in the world anyone could ever want in a cat.

I sometimes don't know how to proceed with you. I want everything to work itself out between us, but I don't really know how to accomplish that end. Sometimes, I feel like an asshole for ignoring huge chunks of the past (and the present) when we talk or hang out, and other times, I think that not mentioning things that might disturb the peace is the best thing to do.

I'm not really sure what you want me to do, so I tend to err on the side of caution. That may or may not be the best approach. I'm doing all I know to do, which is to proceed slowly until further notice.

I never want to lose you. You are far too important to me, whether you believe it or not. I would sacrifice anything and everything for you without question. I've done it before, and I'd damn sure do it again. I would love for you to give me some indication on how to proceed, though. We can fix this, I do believe.

Sometimes, I think about talking to you about X. Then, I think I shouldn't because I'm afraid you'll think I'm using you to get to her or something. (There's already too much belief by everyone here that I "use" people to accomplish my own ends, but that's not true. I'm just often kind of sucky at making myself understood.) That's the last thing I want. I'll never speak of (or to) them again before I'll do something to let you believe that I'd do something like that for one second.

Thank you for not abandoning me completely. Let's continue working on this, ok?

~Bunny



Dear Z,

Normally, by this time, my anger at you over whatever you'd done would've passed. I might still be a little pissed, but I'd be more likely to be so desperate to talk to you that I'd come crawling back and apologize--for what, I don't know, because it's usually YOU who does stupid shit--just so you'd talk to me again.

Not this time.

You've lied to me before. I know you have. You've betrayed me before. None of this is anything new. But the fact that you intentionally fucked up a relationship that you knew I wanted more than anything in the world? (A relationship that you claimed you wanted as well, no less.) I don't know that I'll ever forgive you for that.

We both used to say that we were so very much alike, and I used to think that one reason you were so ambivalent about your attraction to me was because, due to our similarities, I reflected back to you everything you didn't like about yourself. But now? I'm pretty sure that you tell that "We're just alike" line to every bitch you stick your dick in. And you were never "ambivalent" about me at all. You used me for what you wanted me for and threw me away every time I became inconvenient.

I'd come and punch you in the fucking mouth if it weren't for the fact that you're not worth the drive or the ensuing broken hand that would be inevitable following my smashing your stupid, grinning face because Bunny don't play.

The thing that I hate most is that you pulled out the little girl inside. Why? Why the fuck did you do it? I would've never realized she was there if not for you, and it would've been much better that way. The big girl should've been enough to keep you satisfied. You could make her crawl for you anytime you wanted to. So why the fuck did you have to bring out the little one, too?

The big girl hates you for hurting the little one. You brought her out, bound her to your side, and then walked away. You might as well have hurt an actual child of mine as to hurt her because I'm the one who's supposed to take care of her. I was stupid enough to give her to you, and you did all you could to make her yours, then threw her away the first chance you got.

If the big girl is devastated, the little girl is catatonic. She's permanently broken now, thank you very much, you fat bastard. You may as well have told a *real* child that you loved her and then left her because it would've left the exact same effects on a real child as on the little girl inside me.

Yes, the big girl hates you, but the little girl still loves you and doesn't understand why you did what you did. The big girl spends her days imagining new and painful ways for you to meet your demise. The little one can't sleep at night without wrapping her covers around her and pretending it's you, X, and Y snuggled in close to her.

I hope you're satisfied.

~B

I Am About To Shank A Customer

I will never work for this motherfucking dumbass ever again. She's already done enough stupid shit, but this one takes the cake.

Her sites are built in Joomla, which is only used by retards, apparently. I'd never even heard of it until I started my dealings with her. Now, I've worked extensively with Wordpress (the absolute best thing you can use on a fully-hosted website, even if it isn't a "blog," per se), Blogger (better for free blogs, like this one), and even plain old basic HTML. I can do all these things. I am NOT a designer. I can't make pretty graphics. But I can do my code and whatnot.

I sat up until 6 am trying to figure out how to post this bullshit on her stupid fucking Joomla site. (And, yes, Joomla is for retards, by the way, according to everything I've found on the Internet.) There was nowhere to edit the pages. The pages weren't even SHOWING UP in the list of pages.

I finally gave up when the sun started coming up. Then, I sent her an email saying I couldn't figure out how to do it and that she could either enlighten me on the finer points of editing pages that, according to her shitty Joomla software, didn't exist, or I could send her the shit, and she could deal with it. She chose the latter.

Ok, so I put the plain text files for each site into separate folders, clearly labeled with the name of which site they were for. Then, I zipped the folders with WinZip, not because they really needed to be compressed, but so I could keep all the documents in the correct folder, instead of uploading them all one by one. I then sent the two zip files to her and set off on my merry way to my mama's house.

I just got online, and I had THREE fucking emails from this bitch. THREE. The first one was she didn't know what to do with the files and that the reason I couldn't find the pages was that the "web guy" had them HIDDEN. The second one was, her "web guy" didn't know what to do with the files. "They're compressed, and he can't use them that way." The third one was that she still didn't know what to do with the files.

Ok, first of all, it would've been nice if you'd told me that the goddamn files were hidden before I had a fucking breakdown last night because I couldn't figure it out. I was literally curled up in my bed crying because I was trying so hard and couldn't fix it.

Secondly, the REASON I wanted to do it myself was because I knew that you were too stupid to figure it out, regardless of the fact that all you have to do is copy and paste.

Thirdly, if your "web guy" can't figure out how to unzip files, then what the FUCK is he doing passing himself off as a "web guy" (whatever the fuck that is), anyway?

So now I have to go back home on Sunday and deal with this bullshit because, apparently, unzipping files and copying and pasting is TOO GODDAMN COMPLICATED.

Never again. Just...no. Never again.

Truth In Advertising

Longer post later (maybe, if I finish these two sites for this lady tonight), but ChaosKitty had this posted on her Facebook today, and I just have to share. I put it up on my Facebook feed, too, but after a couple of days, everything gets lost on there. So I decided to put it here for safekeeping.

So Much For Something Substantial

I was going to actually post something of substance today, but it's 5:30 in the goddamn morning, and I just got finished with my work. So instead I'll say this.

Kitty is a pretty awesome cat. She's the only reason I didn't go on a killing spree Monday morning. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Reflections On Self

Somehow, I managed to write 8 essays last night, thus I am finished with all mine. Now, I'm just waiting on ChaosKitty to finish hers. I'm afraid she may not get it done, though, because they're due tomorrow, and she's still got 14 of the damn things to do. I have proofread everything and check the HTML, but other than that, I'm good.

It's kinda nice not to have this shit hanging over my head. I'm working on some other stuff that's due Monday and Tuesday, but they're much smaller projects, which is good. I've scheduled it so that I'm only doing 2 essays per day (except for Thursdays, which will be 3) to get this shit done in the future. Fuck writing 3-4-5 essays a day to get the shit finished.

So I guess this is me becoming somewhat organized? I dunno.

I'm grateful for this work and this money, but, damn, I wish it weren't so rushed. My other fear is that after it's done, they won't need us to do as much, and then I'll be fucked. But I'm going to pull an ex-Baptist move and say that I hope the Lord will provide.

Yes, I just went there. Feel free to mock me. I'm mocking myself in my head.

I have to go to my parents' this weekend. I'm building a website for my great-aunt's flower shop, so I'm going to take my camera down there to get some pictures. Then, I'll finish it. The Christmas Open House thing is the first Sunday in November, so I want it to be up by then.

Once the bills are caught up (because almost all of them were/are behind this month), I'm going to start putting some back for taxes. And for classes. God knows this is going to suck some serious ass, but I have to do it. I'm making myself.

I'm also going to start working on my "company," too. I've been neglecting it lately. Time to get it to making money, so that if the writing work decreases, I can still stay afloat. I need to look toward incorporating as an LLC, so I don't have to pay taxes twice on the money, too. I may actually incorporate two different ones, for various reasons.

It sorta sucks that I'm going to be so busy with work, but on the other hand, it really does keep my mind off other shit. I work on shit all day, which only allows me a limited of mind-wandering. I work until the point of exhaustion, so that limits the amount of self-pity I can engage in when I go to bed.

Sometimes, I look at everything and think I still suck. But then I compare me now to how I was this time last year, and I realize that I'm a zillion percent better. Not well, by any stretch of the imagination, but better. The paranoia will be the last to go, apparently, but I don't think it's on the level of delusions anymore. Just...odd thinking.

I don't fly into blind rages anymore. I can still get mad as hell, but it doesn't last as long, and the reaction is a bit more proportionate to the situation at hand.

The racing thoughts pop back up sometimes, but they're a lot quieter than they were, and they often go away altogether. When they are there, they don't seem as frantic.

I don't run around in a flight of panic anymore, either. Yes, sure, I can get freaked out about things (see above, re: paranoia). But it's not as bad, and it's not always there.

I doubt the grandiosity will ever leave completely. I'm a fucking narcissist.

I go through the pressured speech thing sometimes, but that comes and goes, too. The more my thoughts race, the faster I talk. But all in all, that's something I can live with.

Most of the self-destructive impulses are gone. When I get really upset about something, the urges come back, but they're weak enough to deny now.

I'm still uncomfortable in certain social situations, particularly those where no escape is readily available. The good news is, I think I just come off as awkward now instead of insane. For other social situations, the anxiety has disappeared altogether. Generally, if I have somebody else with me, I'm fine, especially if the other people involved have the decency not to call attention to my natural shyness and awkwardness.

Hypersexuality is also reduced. I didn't put two and two together on this one until VERY recently. Yes, I still want to fuck. Especially given how long it's been since I've done it. But it's no longer a compulsion. It's no longer something I seek out because I can't control myself. I feel certain that even if I were around him and could overcome my persistent desire to drown him in a toilet, I could say no to sex now. I might not WANT to, but I could. So weird how that's changed with the September increase of Lamictal. (Currently at 175 mg.) Actually, the hypersexuality topic deserves its own post, so I'm going to leave it at that for now.

Desire to kill myself to shut my brain up? Gone.

So, yeah, I do still have issues, but they're reduced. I can live with all of it but the paranoia. I think a low-dose antipsychotic would knock it right out, honestly. I'm not actually psychotic now. I damn sure have been in the past, though. But if I could find one that wouldn't make me fatter and one that I could actually, you know, AFFORD, I feel like that would be enough to make the residual paranoia and odd thinking go away.

The rest? I can deal with it.

The only real thing that bothers me is the loss of memory. There are lots and lots of holes in my memory of the last 3 years. Well, that and the loss of IQ points. I'm still kind of in mourning for the parts of my brain I've fried out, but what do you do? It is what it is, I guess.

Oh, Jesus

I hurt so bad.

I hurt every time I start, but this is the worst it's been in awhile, I think. I swear before God, if I weren't afraid it'd make me either batshit or fatter, I'd go on birth control. Not that I need it for that purpose, given that it's been a year now since there has been anybody's cock in my vag, but whatever.

I actually ate pizza rolls and green peas for dinner. By choice. I crave grease and green veggies at this time of month. I also had oatmeal cream pies because there's never a bad time for anything with cream filling.

I'm rolling around in bed, contemplating death. This has GOT to ease off if I'm going to get anything done. I took some migraine meds earlier. (Dollar General didn't have any PMS meds, and, honestly, they're basically the same thing, anyway.) I hope they'll start working soon.

Until then, I'll lay here with my heating pad and wallow in misery.

The Good, The Bad, And The Extremely Ugly

The good news is that I'm down to the single digits as far as number of these long-ass essays that I have to complete. The bad news is, there's still 8 of the damn things to go.

The good news is I have acquired a new client. The bad news is, I probably should've charged more for what I'm going to be doing for her.

The ugly news is that I started today, AND I'm getting sick. My neck is still as hell, and my throat hurts. My head's splitting open, and I don't have the first headache pill here. My kitchen desperately needs cleaning, and my laundry desperately needs doing. I HAVE to go grocery shopping tomorrow, come hell or high water.

It's gonna be a long weekend, isn't it?

I Feel Like I'm Drowning

I feel like I'm drowning.

I've had such a shitty week, and I'm so behind now that I'm finally working on shit again. I don't know that I'll ever get caught up. I still have 12 1/2 750+ word things to write and get turned in by Monday. I have 10 250-word things to send to a girl by Saturday and 10 more 250-word things plus 3 250-word blog posts to send to another girl on Sunday. I also have a 600-word thing to get done by Monday, AND now I've got a company wanting me to do some work for them. And once all these essays are sent in Monday, I get to start the whole cycle all over again.

God, I hope I can do this without having a breakdown. I feel like I'm already close enough to one as it is.

In addition to the work thing, I also feel like I'm drowning emotionally. I've been having issues with the paranoia, and it's made it hard for me to sleep. I feel like someone's going to break in my house and kill me, and every little sound I hear (and there are lots because this apartment building creaks like hell) makes my heart stop for a beat or two. I hadn't slept more than 5 or 6 hours a night until last night. (I need 9 or so to be fully functional.) It was starting to turn into a vicious cycle of the paranoia making it hard to sleep and the lack of sleep making the paranoia worse, so I drugged myself last night. I slept somewhere between 12 and 14 hours.

It's weird. I don't really feel manic, but I'm displaying some of my surefire signs of it. Paranoia, lack of sleep, jumping from one thing to another. Maybe I can't recognize my manias as such anymore because I'm so used to them being incredibly bad. Because the meds are knocking them down, they're not nearly as severe anymore, which makes it harder to recognize. Maybe this is what hypomania is? I don't know.

Either way, I bumped the Lamictal up to 175 mg a couple of days ago. I'm going to look for a psychiatrist, too.

There's so much more to say, but I have no idea how to say it. I feel like an asshole for even thinking a lot of the shit I think. I guess it's wrong for me to want the people whose lives I fucked up in my life. But the thing is, I don't know that any of them realize how much things have changed. And I mean in the last month, even.

I'm not sick, but I'm not well. But I'm a lot farther along the path than I have been. I wish I could talk to Kitty and talk to J. about everything. I know neither of them really trust me. Him? I'm not even really that concerned about. He knows he fucked up, and that's on him. But the two girls? I wish I could just be 100% honest with both of them. I wish they would listen without judging me, and I wish that, if nothing else, we could be friends.

Is it wrong to want them in my life badly enough that I'll settle for less than what my heart truly desires, just so I don't have to lose them altogether?

I really think I need to do something else. Something to show that I'm sincere, and this is not just some stupid-ass game I'm playing. I'm too old and tired for games now. Maybe I can figure something out.

A Thought From Another Person I Admire

They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.

Benjamin Franklin

And I Wonder If I Ever Cross Your Mind...

...For me, it happens all the time

Frustration

If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love

But I have no lethal weapon--
Thus does Fate our pleasure step on!
So they still are quick and well
Who should be, by rights, in hell.

"Frustration," Dorothy Parker


At the moment, I feel Mrs. Parker's pain.

I have 19 750+ word essays due by next Monday, October 9th. Of course, I have no new ideas about what I'm going to write, and I'm terrified I'm not going to get it done.

I'm broke. And, despite all this fucking writing I'm doing, I will remain broke for the foreseeable future, as I'm trying to claw myself out of the hole I dug last month.

I'm having some paranoia issues, but I don't feel like I'm manic or mixed or depressed or anything. I'm a little stressed about getting all this shiznit done on time, but I don't think I'm having an "episode." So I called the doctor and asked would upping the Lamictal again (I'm on 150 mg and have a prescription for 200 mg) help, since I'm not manic?

Well...I got told she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist. Sooooo...I basically got the "You're too damn crazy for me to help you" blow-off. It's really frustrating because a.) I don't have the money for a psychiatrist, and b.) I am doing SO much better than I was doing. Why choose NOW to decide you don't wanna deal with me?

I cried when I got off the phone with the nurse. I feel like it's some sort of horrible moral failing of mine that the doctor doesn't want to deal with me anymore. *Sigh* Especially since I've tried so hard and done everything I was told.

Then, I met my mother for lunch today, so she could bring me my meds. I made the mistake of mentioning something to her about the psychiatrist referral. I should've known better. I REALLY should've.

"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with you," she said.

Yes, because we all know her opinion holds more weight than that of the entirety of the medical community.

"It's all in your head," she said.

No, it's in my brain. Big difference.

"Well, you may have a little social anxiety, but that's it," she said.

Uh-huh. She's conveniently forgetting that my "social anxiety" has all but disappeared now that I'm on a mood stabilizer. The "social anxiety" was paranoia combined with natural shyness. *Sigh*

Also, anxiety is the only mental illness she recognizes. Why, you ask? Oh, because SHE has anxiety. If SHE has it, then it must exist. But anything else? It's just a character flaw and something you should "get over."

"I've never 'seen it' in you," she said.

Seen what? The crazy? Hell, no, I have the ability to hide it for short periods of time, and I knew I had to hide it from you because you'd either tell me it was all in my head, tell me I needed to get over it, or tell me I needed to find the Lord. Or all three.

Then, the kicker:

"There's nothing wrong with you. You just want to BELIEVE there's something wrong with you."

Oh, REALLY?

Yes, Mother. Yes. You caught me. All this time, I've desperately been wanting to be diagnosed with a severe mental illness that's ruined my life and the lives of others around me, made me flunk out of school, made me lose my best friend and other people I loved, made me be ridiculed by my own mother, and otherwise just do horrible things.

Yes. Totally faking. I can't believe you figured it out.

Fuck you, you invalidating, self-centered asshole.


Oh...I still haven't gotten a response to my email. I guess I never will. But there was SO much I wanted to say from the bottom of my heart. :(

Excuse me while I go cry again now.