High Off Of Love, Drunk From My Hate

I have some things I desperately need to talk about because they're driving me nuts.

I spent the weekend with my friend K. in the north suburbs of Atlanta. It was great to see her again because she really understands me (and vice-versa). Talking to someone who completely gets it is really nice because there's no need for pretense or for trying desperately to explain something to someone who'll never understand.

But she told me something really troubling. She asked me if I remembered several conversations and a couple of events that happened while I was in my super-fucked-up episode that spanned at least a year and a half. I had to confess that I didn't. She filled me in on everything, but I really thought I remembered every crazy thing I'd done. Apparently not.

Between the things she told me and some of the stuff I've heard other people say to me, I'm pretty sure I don't remember a lot of what happened during that episode. When I look back on it, there are LOTS of blank spots in my memory.

It's kind of scary. I had no idea until recently that I was going so wide open that I burned my brain out like that. It's...terrible. I wonder what all I did that nobody's told me about yet. :(


The other thing that's been bothering me is how people will tell me that, on one hand, they understand that I'm "sick," but then they turn right back around start blaming me for my actions during some of the worst times of my life. I'm not trying to shirk responsibility or anything here, but, for God's sake, I don't remember half of it. I don't remember a lot of the stuff K. told me about. I don't remember some supposed "intervention" that was done on me at some point during that time. I don't remember much of anything, honestly, and I wasn't really even drinking. It's literally the crazy that's fried my brain.

I wish people would just say that they don't believe there's anything wrong with me, rather than paying lip service to "Oh, honey, you're sick," while still holding grudges and ignoring my apologies and still being angry at me for something I truly could not help.

I'm sorry I was paranoid. I'm sorry that I turned it against other people. I'm sorry that what should've been normal irritation and anger turned to blinding, black-out rage. I'm sorry that I alienated the whole damn world. But I have to admit that I'm still a little pissed that I was abandoned by the people who should've been there for me because I was "difficult."

Let me just remind everyone what, exactly, I was experiencing. (I'm stealing this from this site, which is a repository of some old stuff from Usenet.)

Dysphoria is another type of mania. In dysphoria, one is "high," but in a different sense: agitated, destructive, full of rage, talking a mile a minute, mind racing, deluded with grandiose thoughts, paranoid, full of anxiety, panic-stricken.

Not exactly a walk in the park, folks. My manias--all of them--fit every single one of those descriptions and then some. The world looks like a really scary and threatening place, and there's a pervasive sense of something sinister, of impending doom, kind of like living 24/7 in a horror movie.

Also, I thought people were going to snipe me from outside my house, and I was having intrusive thoughts that weren't my own every time I drove that were "telling" me to drive my truck into a tree. (No, it wasn't like hearing voices. These were distinctly my own thoughts, but I wasn't consciously having them.) So it wasn't like we were dealing with a rational mind here.

I'm just tired of being punished for something I can't help. I'm tired of being abandoned. I'm tired of feeling unworthy and unlovable. I'm tired of being crazy. Most of all, I'm tired of being afraid that I'll never be happy.

Also, I started reading I Hate You, Don't Leave Me--Understanding the Borderline Personality at K.'s house. I ordered it for my Kindle. The book has basically confirmed what I've feared all along, that I'm most likely one of those sick fucks who's both bipolar and borderline. The kind of patient all the mental health professionals hate, the kind of person no one wants any interpersonal involvement with, and, worst of all, the kind of person who'll never find happiness and fulfillment because other people hate him so deeply.

Think I'm a hypochondriac? Read.

Beneath the clinical nomenclature lies the anguish experienced by borderlines and their families and friends. For the borderline, much of life is a relentless emotional roller coaster with no apparent destination. For those living with, and loving, or treating the borderline, the trip can seem just as wild, hopeless, and frustrating.

Jennifer [a BPD patient mentioned in the previous section] and millions of other borderlines are provoked to rage uncontrollably against the people they love the most. They feel helpless and empty, with an identity splintered by severe emotional contradictions.

Mood changes come swiftly, explosively, carrying the borderline from the heights of joy to the depths of depression. Filled with anger one hour, calm the next, he often has little inkling about why he was driven to such wrath. Afterward, the inability to understand the origins of the episode brings on more self-hate and depression.

A borderline suffers a kind of "emotional hemophilia"; she lacks the clotting mechanism needed to moderate her spurts of feeling. Prick the delicate "skin" of a borderline, and she will emotionally bleed to death. [Emphasis mine]

This is just from the prologue. Expect more passages to be quoted in the following days.

I flat fucking refuse to go and be diagnosed with this, though. The bipolar label's bad enough, thank you very much. I'd rather not have the kiss of death as far as stigma goes. Plus, I guess I think that as long as it's never named, it doesn't exist? I don't know.

Anyway. This is for you. You know who you are. I'm too lazy to quote the whole thing--though the whole thing is applicable--so I'm just going to do the best part.



Now I know we said things, did things we didn't mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
But your temper's just as bad as mine is
You're the same as me
But when it comes to love you're just as blinded

Baby, please come back
It wasn't you, baby, it was me
Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is I love you too much to walk away, though....

Back From The Dead

Mood: Unhappy

Meds: 150 mg. Wellbutrin and 100 mg. Lamictal at 12 pm; about to take the other 25 mg. of Lamictal as soon as I finish writing this.

Sleep: Oh, 'bout 18 hours. I passed out around 5:30 yesterday afternoon and woke up around 11:30 this morning. I must've really needed it.

Other: Work's been hopping, thank God. I needed to make up for lost time. Personal life is shit, as usual. I'd elaborate, but I'm hungry. Maybe later. I will say, though, that I'm going to bail if I don't get what I want. Five years is more than enough time to wait on some asshole to get his shit together.

Yes, Just As I Suspected, This Is Hell

Mood: Don't ask. Just...don't.

Meds: 7:30 am?

Sleep: 2-3 hours

Other: This day has been a clusterfuck from the get-go. My entire body aches from uncomfortable-ass chairs, and I've still got to sleep in a recliner. I was so looking forward to going home tomorrow because I haven't made one red cent working this week. But earlier, despite what the doctor said, my mother said, "I don't know if I'm going to feel up to going home tomorrow."

Of COURSE not. If she only stays overnight, she hasn't gotten the attention she so desperately wants. I've limped around all day on a foot that hurts like hell. My back also hurts like hell. But I've changed bedpans and cleaned up vomit and brought drinks and fetched wet cloths and done all this shit that the goddamn nurses' aides get PAID to do. But you know what? She doesn't want to ask them to do it because she doesn't want to "bother" them. Bother them, hell. That's what they get paid for. It's more like she just wants to see me run around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Fucking narcissist.

It's really hard, too, because I don't have what you'd call a strong stomach. I almost puked myself a couple of times. Thank God I managed to will it down, or I'd still be curled up in the floor bawling.

What pisses me off the most is that Daddy told me he'd be here, but he's not. It was like, "Oh, we'll just dump it all off on her (again)." He had vacation time he could've taken. But no. Let's make sure the one person in the family who works off commission has to come down here and be stuck indefinitely. I haven't made a dime this week, and I don't know when I'll get to go back and work. It's like my time is not important because I work at home and therefore can't possibly be too busy.

Au contraire. Do you know what I've been doing since 6:30? For seven hours? Blogging. Work blogging, that is. I also sat in on a chatroom meeting for work, but didn't participate much between her and the work I was trying to do. Oh, and, of course, I've been playing nursemaid for her, too. Writing this blog is the first time I've taken to myself all day, unless you count the 10 minute shower earlier.

I know it's my mother who had surgery, but I need someone to take care of me. :(

Still holding out hope I can get her ass home tomorrow, though. Bad as it may be, I'll probably be dumping her ass and going back to my house ASAP. I'm tired and in dire need of my own bed before I go nuts.

This Is Going To Suck

Mood: Meh. 0, I guess

Meds: 12 pm

Sleep: 7 hours

Other: At my parents' house. I went to the doctor today. She upped my Lamictal. Told me to start by upping it by 25 mg and see how that did. If it's not enough, I'll go up another 25. She said I can keep going 'til I get to 200, but that if I think I'm fine at 125 (or wherever), I can stop there. We shall see. I imagine I'm going to be dumb as fuck again for awhile. A lot of the cognitive side effects have eased, so I hope if I get more of them, they'll be transient, too.

Going to get a snack and try to sleep. We have to be in Auburn tomorrow by 9, and my mother thinks it's necessary to leave an hour and 15 minutes before we have to be there when it's a 45 minute drive.

This is going to suck SO BAD.

Dreading....

Mood: -2

Meds: 5 pm

Sleep: 10-11 hours.

Other: I have no idea how much I'll be around the next few days. I'm going southward for my mother's surgery tomorrow. The surgery isn't until Tuesday, but I need to go get some new prescriptions from the doctor tomorrow. I'm going to see about getting something to take as needed for my random bouts of paranoia and/or rage.

Got a lot on my mind, but I need to take my ass to bed soon, so I'm not going to mention them right now. Suffice it to say, I'm still sad because I still miss the people I love most. I also really dread being stuck down there indefinitely. They said she might just have to stay overnight, and I hope that's the case. I want to bail ASAP because sitting in that damned hospital is miserable. Plus, my daddy was supposed to be there, but now he's not going to be, so I get to be the one to corral all my batshit family members for the duration.

I'd rather herd cats, personally. It'd be easier.

Self-Pity...I Haz It

Mood: Blah.

Meds: 3:30-4 pm? Something.

Sleep: Fitful 8 or 9 hours.

Other: Life sucks, and I hate everybody and everything.


I know I haven't really been updating like I should. I haven't had the energy, to tell the truth. I force myself to work, but that's about it. I don't really feel like doing jack fucking shit anymore.

Fangbunny is leaving on Thursday. I'm glad she's going to be able to go and do what she wants to do. But I'm gonna be really lonely. :(

It's kind of hard contemplating a life with NO friends. Well, not with zero friends, but without any closer than 2 hours and several counties away. I went through this my freshman year in college, but I really never thought I'd be nearly 30 and having to do it again. Unfortunately, there's not a sorority I can join to meet some of the best friends of my life now. :(

Story of my life.

Now I'm tired, headachy, and irritated. I have to go to my parents' house Monday because my mother is having surgery (again) on Tuesday. I don't have any refills on my Lamictal prescription, so the plan is to get to the doctor on Monday to get a refill. I know I shouldn't say this, but I don't want to go. I really just want to hide out from the world. It's not going to happen, though. :|

I want my best friend back. I want to be able to be with the ones I love without drama. I want the person who's at the root of all this bullshit to die in a fire. You'll never convince me that all this shit wasn't the malicious act of a goddamn sociopath. I can only hope karma will remember me....

Wherever You Go, There You Are

Mood: -3

Meds: 3 pm

Sleep: 14 hours

Other: I've come to a realization. I've got to get the fuck out of here. Now that Kitty doesn't want anything to do with me and Fangbunny is leaving, I'm not going to have anyone. I'm already miserable; it's only going to get worse. I won't even have anyone to dye my fucking hair for me. Shut up, it's a concern, ok?

I've gotta get out of this shithole town. Maybe I won't be so lonely. I dunno, though.

I'm going to bed. I'm tired of thinking about it all.

Alone

Mood: -3

Meds: 3:30 pm

Sleep: 10 hours

Other: I got dumped by my best friend today. I really feel like I've only got one person left in the world and that one only part time. I had an interview today with another company. I'm supposed to have another one next week. I would really like to get this job, as it's part-time and supposedly makes its contractors a lot of money.


I'm too tired to really try to sort out all my jumbled feelings right now. I know I should, but...I just can't.

Love Is Like A Brick: You Can Build A House Or Sink A Dead Body

Mood: Shit.

Meds: 3 pm or something

Sleep: 10 hours

Other: Didn't eat a lot today. Should've worked, but I cleaned house some more instead. My living room is completely done except for hanging curtains, but I'm going to need a man with a drill--probably my father--for that, since it took me 2 hours to put the damn DVD rack together by myself. It hurts my bad elbow that may or may not be tennis elbow so badly to rotate my hand outward, and that's all working a screwdriver is. I also need a lampshade for one of the lamps in there. Would love a cheap wall clock and a couple of cheap things to set on tables, but it's not necessary. Massive mountain of laundry is done and put away. I still have a way to go on my bedroom, but it shouldn't be *too* much longer, I hope.


Why, yes, I am doing this to take my mind off how much things suck right now. Whatever makes you ask?

Apparently, I am not only completely unlovable, but now I'm being ignored because I don't even merit being spoken to. AGAIN. I'm so tired of this. So. Fucking. Tired. Why do I keep putting myself through this? WHY?

Because I haven't run out of excuses to make for him yet, I guess.

Hurting

Mood: -6

Meds: Dunno, sometime after I got up

Sleep: 7 hours

Other: I'm hurting physically and emotionally right now. My throat hurts again. I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get rid of this shit. I got confirmation today that I'm not worthy of being loved. I'll never be good enough. No matter what I do. I'd drink, but it hurts too much to swallow.

Fuck my life.

Slow Progress

Mood: 0

Meds: Fuck if I know. I took them. That's all I can tell you.

Sleep: 6 hours?

Food: Half a 12-inch chicken salad sandwich from Subway, some barbecue pork rinds (yes, I know*), orange Powerade Zero, some strawberries, and a couple of pieces of sugar-free candy for lunch. The other half of the sandwich, more pork rinds, a thing of cherry yogurt, and a couple more pieces of candy for supper with Diet Dr. Pepper. Believe it or not, that's all I've eaten today. *Yes, I know how redneck the pork rinds are, but they didn't have sweet potato chips at Wal-Mart today, and they have fewer carbs, anyway.

Exercise: Shopping?

Other: I've got my eating back on track now because I went to the grocery store today. Thank God. Maybe I'll start exercising again soon, too.


My day started out really shitty. I didn't sleep well last night. It was all crazy dreams and waking up a million times. I couldn't make myself do anything, and I was really irritable. I finally forced myself to get up and bathe and go to the grocery store because I was flat out of food. After I finished with that, I stopped by Subway to get one of their new chicken salad sandwiches I'd heard about. It was actually pretty good. I'm a total chicken salad addict.

I still couldn't get motivated, so I popped a No-Doz. I was able to work for about 3 hours before it wore off, and then I took another. I got a bunch of blogs done. No calls, though. :(

After I got irritated with work, I logged out and tried to clean my disgusting bedroom a little. I managed to get all the trash and dishes picked up on the right side of the bed. That was basically all there was because now there's only a couple of sex toys and a pen in the floor over there, LOL. Then, I moved to the left side, which had a bunch more random shit. I got the trash and dishes picked up on that side, too, and I piled all the books (which is what most of the random shit was) up into a clothes basket. There's really not much else I can do now until I picking up all the clothes off the floor. I intend to start at the door and work my way toward the foot of the bed tomorrow and wash all I pick up. I'll put the clean ones in baskets on the right and left sides of the bed, where there's not any shit, at least until I can dig out a trail to the closet.

My goal is to have the bedroom clean within the week. I hope I can do it because I want to rearrange the furniture in here, so I'll have more room. I would love to have my entire house put back together very soon. The living room furniture still isn't placed, but the living room itself is clean, except for the floor. I vacuumed it before they brought the new furniture, but it's been trampled all over with the moving and needs doing again. Same for this room-that's-not-a-room-but-also-not-a-hall thing in the middle of the house. Bathroom's clean. Kitchen will be clean again tomorrow when I clean out the refrigerator and take out the trash and put all the dirty dishes on to wash.

I'm getting there. I swear, I am. I'll never be Sally Homemaker because the idea of making someone a good little housewife makes me sick, but at least my place will be presentable. And I won't trip and nearly kill myself when I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom.

Ok, going to bed now, I think. I have a lot of shit to do tomorrow.

Victory!

Mood: 2

Meds: 11 am

Sleep: 7 hours or so

Other: Went home for Mothers' Day this weekend. My mama took me shopping and bought me a couple of new pairs of flip-flops and some new clothes. I've officially dropped a pants size because I'm now the proud owner of a pair of size 20 capris, LOL. My goal is to be down to an 18 by mid-summer and, hopefully, down to a 16 by Christmas. Maybe more. A 14 (or possibly 12) is going to be my stopping point. :) Gotta go grocery shopping tomorrow. Also going to try to start getting my room clean. Maybe if I do a little at a time, I can get it done. I was going to work tonight, but I caught up on some blogging instead. Work blogging, that is. So, technically, I did work. I just didn't make any money, LOL.


I still feel kind of lonely and off-center. I'm not sure if I'm just crazy (shut up) or if it's indicative of some greater problem. Sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by the massive clusterfuck that is my life. I'm trying to really hard to overcome some of this shit, but it's slow going. I had to cancel my therapy appointment (was supposed to be Monday) because I didn't have the money to go. :(

In other news, I found the most fantastic site the other day. This is going to belong to me as soon as I have a few extra dollars. It's a fucking BUNNY-EAR HOODIE. A VICTORIAN bunny-ear hoodie. (Ok, well, if it's Victorian, it's not technically a "hoodie," but whatever.) I'll probably get the blue one. :) There are tons of other cute shit on the site. I'm not a huge fan of some of the Gothic Lolita stuff because a lot of it's not bright enough for me. But some of the other stuff....Let's just say when I have money, I'll have lots of frilly, girly, Victorian-era little girl dresses for no other reason than because it makes me happy. So what if I look like a moron?

Ok. Snack and then bed. It's been a long weekend.

That One Perfect Summer

Second post of the day. This one is far more wistful and sad than the rather angry one before.

Have you ever had a realization hit you out of the blue for no good reason? Yeah, that happened to me while I was working. I was sitting here, writing work blogs and playing music I've got on my computer, when this song came on.

Yes, shitty early '00s Southern rap. Don't judge me.

Anyway, as music often does, that song invoked memories of an earlier time. (Dear God, I'm not old enough to be feeling nostalgic yet, am I?) I stopped what I was doing to sit back for a moment and reminisce. I'm pretty good at reminiscing. Or avoiding work. Your choice.

That song came out in early 2002 and became popular in the weeks leading up to my high school graduation. Which, of course, brought me back to the summer of 2002. The more the memories came back, the more I realized that that was probably the only time in my life that I've ever been *truly* happy, at least for any length of time. Sure, there was plenty of bad to go along with the good, but the good by far outweighed it. I think it was the only time it ever did for me.

The weekend after I graduated high school and was through with those assholes once and for all, I got my "new" car. Of course, it wasn't actually new. Poor little '96 Firebird was already 7 years old even then. But whatever. I wanted a Firebird, and I finally got one.

I had a shitty job working 4-6 hour shifts 2-3 days a week in the pharmacy soda fountain. I didn't much care for it, but the paycheck and the tips gave me enough money to do pretty well as I wanted, and I wasn't there that much, anyhow. And I still make a mean lime freeze, only nowadays, I put rum in it. I had gas money, clothing money, spending money for other shit, and still had some to put back for that shining moment in the future known as "college."

I had several friends. I had a boyfriend. I had a bad-ass car. (It was still bad-ass then, despite its age. Most people couldn't look at it and tell it wasn't brand-new.) I still had long hair. My face wasn't hard and care-worn like it is now. I wasn't thin, but I wasn't fat, either. I didn't have to shop in the plus section, let me put it that way. Men wanted me. Multiple men. That summer, in addition to my boyfriend, I had 4 other guys specifically express interest, and that's not even counting all the heads I'd turn when I rolled up in Ashland in my cute little car, playing, you guessed it, shitty '00s pop and hip-hop, with the T-tops out, wearing my cute little clothes and platform shoes (because they were still in style then). I could've had pretty much anybody I wanted then, I guess.

I was in love with my boyfriend. First guy I ever had sex with, first guy I ever seriously dated, etc. Except we didn't really *date*. We didn't go anywhere except to his friends' houses and to go pick up a pizza and a movie to take back to his house. When he went to Ashland with his friends, he never even asked me to come along, even though he knew there was nothing I liked more than riding uptown and talking to all my friends. I spent countless nights in the same town as him while he studiously ignored me. But I didn't know any better then, so it didn't matter, I guess.

The reason I eventually chose the college I ended up attending was mostly because he used to go to school there. He'd promised that if I'd go there, he'd come back and finish his degree with me (because he flunked out the first time). Then, they waved a full-tuition scholarship under my nose, and it was a done deal. He'd made several not-so-subtle hints about the two of us getting engaged, then married. He even finagled my prized tanzanite ring from me, so that he could know my ring size "if he ever needed it."

Before it all went to hell in a handbasket, before the end of August when it all fell apart, before my best friend at the time betrayed me, before I found out he'd been fucking a cracked-out ho behind my back for who knows how long (because said "best friend" was filling him full of false information with the express purpose of ruining our relationship) and eventually dumped me to marry her because he got her pregnant, before I got stuck in a long and miserable freshman year at college, before all that...it was the perfect summer.

On the days I didn't have to work (and even sometimes on the days I did because we got off at 5:30), Kitty and I would ride around, all over Tallapoosa and Clay Counties, with the T-tops out, the radio blaring, and the hot summer sun sweeping over us. We spent time at the lake. We hung out in Ashland every weekend. We drew attention. We were adored.

It was perfect.

Most people would say, "We thought it would last forever," but I wasn't that stupid, even as an 18-year-old. I just thought that it was the beginning of wonderful things, that freedom and happiness and friendship and good times would all continue on into college and then on into the rest of my life.

Oh, how wrong I was.

I'm reminded of a passage from The Hours, which I think everyone should read if you haven't already because the movie didn't do it justice, and it's so heartbreakingly beautiful. The main protagonist in the novel is thinking along the same lines as I have been the last couple of hours and says:

It had seemed like the beginning of happiness, and Clarissa is still sometimes shocked, more than thirty years later, to realize that it was happiness; that the entire experience lay in a kiss and a walk, the anticipation of dinner and a book. The dinner is by now forgotten; Lessing has been long overshadowed by other writers; and even the sex, once she and Richard reached that point, was ardent but awkward, unsatisfying, more kindly than passionate. What lives undimmed in Clarissa's mind more than three decades later is a kiss at dusk on a patch of dead grass, and a walk around a pond as mosquitoes droned in the darkening air. There is still that singular perfection, and it's perfect in part because it seemed, at the time, so clearly to promise more. Now she knows: That was the moment, right then. There has been no other.

Yes, I did go and get my copy of the book and type out that entire paragraph. Mostly because nothing I could say could possibly describe how I'm feeling in such a rich and poetic way.

But the worst part of all is not knowing that that *was* happiness, rather than the beginning of happiness. The worst is knowing, deep down inside, that I will spend the rest of my life trying to have another summer...another month...another week...hell, another DAY that measures up to that one perfect summer. And I will fail miserably.

If I close my eyes and play Mary J. Blige, I can still feel the hot summer sun, unblocked by the roof of a car, on my face and shoulders and the wind in my hair....

The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

Mood: -3

Meds: 12 pm

Sleep: 7 hours

Other: I've got two ideas vying for position in my head. Each one wants to be blogged about today. So, since I haven't really blogged much the past week or so, I believe I'll talk about both. Only because they're so different from one another, I'm splitting it up into two posts. This one is going to be my angry post.


I have spent my entire life being a second-class citizen in some way or another. I've talked many times before about how, despite the fact that I've got a master's degree and have managed to not have to go back home and live in a trailer in my parents' backyard, my mother and her entire side of the family think I am dirt beneath my fat, alcoholic cousin's feet (who *does* live a double-wide in his parents' backyard, though it wasn't a "going back" situation--he never left his parents' house until he got married last year, so now he and his wife live in their backyard together). When I was in school, I was the weird smart kid and was, therefore, shunned. I don't really give a shit about this *now*, but at the time, it was kind of a big deal. Once I got to college, I didn't make friends very easily, so I wasn't intentionally shunned, just kind of ignored. When it comes to men, I've always ended up with the kind who wanted to "possess" me for whatever reason, but were never proud of that fact. Generally, the reasons for wanting to "possess" me included sex and not wanting anyone else to have me. *Eyeroll*

I'm sorry. Call me a crazy drama queen bitch if you want, but I'd like the opportunity to be patted on the head, told I'm pretty, given the chance to dress up, and go out to be shown off. I'm a fucking princess. If you don't like it, you know what you can do.

(Also, remind me to explain part of my reasoning here: the disastrous proms and sorority formals I was subjected to between the ages of 17 and 23. That's worthy of a whole 'nother blog post in and of itself.)

I HATE being a dirty little secret. I HATE feeling like I'm not good enough to even merit a fucking mention. I sat on my hands and wouldn't let myself rant about this for 8 hours, but I'm still mad as hell. I HATE the fact that the goddamn status quo of his fucking life is more important than I am. Oh, pardon me. Don't let MY MOTHERFUCKING FEELINGS interfere with your convenience and your comfort, asshole.

I feel disposable. I feel not good enough (again). This fucking strikes at every single deep-seated insecurity I've got, and the only reaction I can even get on the damn subject is the same old bury-my-head-in-the-sand-and-maybe-it'll-go-away shit that got us in this mess to start with.

Why do I always end up with the cowards?

I feel like I'm not worth being anything *other* than the dirty little secret. I feel, once again, like a cute little sex toy, to be used when needed and tossed aside for the rest of the time and expected never to complain and to always be ready for when the owner returns. Some people might be ok with that kind of treatment, but I'm not. I'm too complex--and probably too broken--to ever just be a slave or a sex toy.

I'm also tired of making excuses for him. I'm sick of telling myself "It's hard" or "It's a damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation. The truth of the matter is, he does what he does because I let him. There's no impetus for change. Why get off your lazy ass and do anything when you can sit back and have the whole world fall into your lap? Why ever take anything other than the path of least resistance when you've never had to and, most likely, never will have to?

I know perfectly well he'll read this blog and pretend he didn't, or else decide not to talk to me again for an indeterminate amount of time. I'll pretend I didn't write it, and I'll still feel like the living, breathing sex doll. He'll still be perfectly happy with his easy existence, and I'll still be all torn up inside because I don't merit anything other than a "Maybe it'll be different someday."

No. No, it won't. The only person who has the power to change anything is the one most likely to sit on his ass and not do a damn thing. It's what's happened the last 5 years, so I don't know why I ever expect it to change.

And when it all goes to hell in a handbasket--which it will because it always does--he'll happily put my head on the chopping block in order to save his own ass. Like he does every damn time.

Funny that Lady Gaga dropped the "Judas" video today, huh? It's rather fitting.



[Random Gaga ad-libbing not worth typing out]

When he comes to me, I am ready
I'll wash his feet with my hair if he needs
Forgive him when his tongue lies through his brain
Even after three times, he betrays me
I'll bring him down, bring him down, down
A king with no crown, king with no crown

I'm just a holy fool
Oh, baby, he's so cruel
But I'm still in love with Judas, baby

[More Gaga ad-lib]

I couldn't love a man so purely
Even darkness forgave his crooked way
I've learned love is like a brick
You can build a house or sink a dead body
I'll bring him down, bring him down, down
A king with no crown, king with no crown

I'm just a holy fool
Oh, baby, he's so cruel
But I'm still in love with Judas, baby

[Blah, blah]

In the most Biblical sense
I am beyond repentance
Fame hooker, prostitute wench, vomits her mind
But in the cultural sense
I just speak in future tense
Judas, kiss me if offensed
Or wear ear condom next time

I wanna love you
But something's pulling me away
Jesus is my virtue
But Judas is the demon I cling to
I cling to

I'm just a holy fool
Baby, he's so cruel
But I'm still in love with Judas, baby
I'm just a holy fool
Baby, he's so cruel
But I'm still in love with Judas, baby

[Etc., etc.]

Hi, Blog, Long Time, No See

Mood: 0, would be better if I weren't sick AGAIN

Meds: 11:30 am?

Sleep: 16 hours. From 6 pm yesterday (when I was going to take a "short nap") until 11:30 am today. Told you I was sick.

Other: I'm really embarrassed that I haven't updated this thing like I'm supposed to. I'm sorry. :( I just get SO fucking tired that a lot of nights, I fall asleep without doing it like I should. I'm pretty sure I'm never going to get over this plague I have. I know this is probably a relapse of it. And it totally kicks my ass every time it flares up.


I wish I knew what to write about today, but I don't. I'm trying really hard to get better, but there are things that continue to hold me back. Some I can do something about, some I can't. But I guess that's how it'll always be. I dunno.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about where I belong in life, and the truth is that I can't really answer that question. Maybe one day.

Ok, bedtime. I wish I could offer more, but...ugh. Exhaustion refuses to let me.