Writing Blog Update

And now, from the black, black sea of despair, self-loathing, and insomnia, comes a long-awaited (by no one) update to my writing blog--a poem called "Wormwood."

I Hate You, Brain

Sigh.

My circadian rhythm has gone from screwy to non-existent. Sometimes, I sleep during the day; sometimes, I sleep at night. It has neither rhyme nor reason anymore, and it's frustrating as hell because it's throwing everything off. I don't even know what day it is anymore.

I've used the Ambien so much lately, trying to regulate things, that it doesn't seem to work anymore. So I'm leaving that off for the time being in hopes that it'll regain its effectiveness eventually.

I go for days without sleeping, and then I go down for way too damn long. I'm having to use the over-the-counter sleeping pills again, the ones that knock me out for hours on end. I went to bed at 8 pm last night and didn't get up until 3:30 pm today. Oh, and I napped about 2 hours before officially going to bed last night. So that's, what, nearly 22 hours of sleep? And the worst thing of it all is that I could go back to sleep right now.

It's messed up my working, messed up my taking my meds, messed up all kinds of things. WTF, brain? Just...WTF? I HATE YOU.

That is all.

I Still Miss You

I've changed the presets in my truck
So those old songs don't sneak up
They still find me
And remind me
Yeah, you come back that easy

Try restaurants I've never been to
Order new things off the menu
That I never tried
'Cause you didn't like
Two drinks in, and you were by my side

I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
And I still miss you

I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you

I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you
I still miss you

I never knew 'til you were gone
How many pages you were on
It never ends
I keep turnin'
Line after line, you're there again

I don't know how to let you go
You're so deep down in my soul
I feel helpless, so hopeless
It's a door that never closes
No, I don't know how to do this

I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
And I still miss you

I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you

I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
But I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you

I've talked to friends
Talked to myself
I've talked to God
I've prayed like hell
But I still miss you

I've tried sober
I've tried drinking
I've been strong
And I've been weak
And I still miss you

I've done everything
To move on like I'm supposed to
I'd give anything
For one more minute with you
I still miss you

I still miss you
I still miss you

January 20th

January 20th--just another reminder of one more thing I've lost.

Too bad this one was the most important.

Can I Please Change My Fucking Latitude Already?

I hate winter.

I hate it with the flaming passion of a thousands suns.

It doesn't matter what I do, how hard I try, I cannot seem to shake the shitty feeling for any length of time in the fall or winter.

When my doctor upped my Lamictal back in November, I felt great...for a couple of weeks. Post-Christmas, I was excited about the new year. That lasted for about...three or four days. Now, I hate everyone and everything and haven't done a single, solitary thing on that list of shit I was hoping to get accomplished this year. And the idea of even attempting it exhausts me.

I sleep too much (11 hours last night). I eat too much (let's not even go there). And I don't do nearly enough. I just sit here and seethe in blackness and hatred.

Extra Wellbutrin and extra caffeine helped for a few days, but I think my body's adjusted to it by now, so I've cut back. No sense in wasting the shit if it's not helping anyway. I'll save it for another time, when it might actually do some good.

I hate myself. For what? Everything. What haven't I fucked up in my life? Let's see, I'm 29 years old. I still live in shitty Alabama in a shitty town in a shitty apartment. I flunked out of grad school. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs. I have three friends in the whole world, none of whom even live in the same county. I have one of the most ignoble jobs in the world. I'm fat and physically unhealthy and exhausted. I'm bipolar and apparently have seasonal affective on top of it. I killed everything that even came close to making me happy for me by virtue of being crazy and an idiot. And the worst part of it all is that there's absolutely no prospect of it ever getting any better. The rest of my life will be this way because, even though I try so hard, everything I touch turns to shit, and I have the worst luck on the planet.

Lately, I've been thinking about how unfair it is, that I'm essentially a cripple because I'm crazy. Yes, I know, life's not fair, blah, blah, blah. I wonder what kinds of horrible things I did in my past lives to merit this shit. Of course, in some traditions, they say that our souls choose each incarnation that we're born into. If that's true, I'd love to know what kind of retarded bullshit I was thinking when I picked this. Note to self: Never again.

Intellectually, I know this is caused by a lack of sunlight, and the fact that I'm back to sleeping until it's dark outside is not helping in the least. Emotionally? I wonder if I've died and gone to hell but somehow am not aware of it.

One of the reasons I want to move to the tropics (aside from the ocean, the warmth, and the fact that it's an excellent place to run the hell away from your problems) is that seasonal affective is basically unheard of there. And it makes sense--there's not that much variation in the lengths of the days and nights and, of course, it's always warm.

Changes in latitude, changes in attitude, as Mr. Buffett would say.



So. Tired. Of. Fighting. It.

I'm going to keep doing it because I don't know anything else, but fuck. It'd be nice if it didn't seem like a constant struggle.

Ok, I can't decide which Seneca quote I should use to close out this blog (like some pretentious douchebag), so I'll just go with both of them.


"There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse."

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."

She Only Drinks Coffee At Midnight

Proof that God loves me and wants me to be happy:

Daddy bought me that giant mug when we were at Walmart Saturday. Today's its inaugural run. It holds between 1/2 and 3/4 of a pot of coffee. Also, I heard "Meet Virginia" on the radio earlier. I don't know what that has to do with this post, but it at least explains the title.

More Letters That Can Never Be Sent

Dear X,

I'm so happy for you. No, really, I am. I wish I could tell you to your face, but I'm not that much of a presumptuous asshole. I'm not going to ruin anything by sticking my nose in it in any shape, form, or fashion.

At one point, I thought I'd be upset, but no. I was months ago when I found out, but now? I'm just happy for you--so, so happy. Maybe a little sad and wistful that I can't be a part of it in any way, but it doesn't take away from the fact that my bruised and battered heart is still smiling for you.

Don't ever doubt that I love you and feel happy for no other reason than that I know that you are. And I'll show you that by staying away, so as not to ruin your happiness. But if you ever need anything, anytime, anywhere, you know where to find me. Maybe I won't fuck it up so badly in the next lifetime.

Congratulations, my love. May the happiness you feel today be nothing in comparison to what you will feel for the rest of your life.

~Bunny



Dear Y,

Thank you for being there. In some small, strange way, I feel that, since a part of me is always with you, I can be there, too, in a weird, vicarious way. Thank you so much for that and for everything else, too.

Don't ever doubt that I love you as well, and that I'll be there for you any time you need me, anytime at all.

Be happy, honey. Be happy for them, and be happy with your own life. God knows, you of all people deserve it.

~Bunz



Dear Z,

Don't fuck it up, you stupid sonofabitch.

~B. Rabbit