My mental health is getting really really bad again.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped taking my Prozac.
Maybe it’s because of Lil Chip.
Maybe it’s because no matter what I do I can’t find joy in anything.
I don’t know if I love anyone anymore. Not the way I used to at least.
I don’t even know if I love my cats.
I have to take Podrick to the vet in the morning. It just seems like an inconvenience. Another thing getting in the way of my life, sucking my finances dry.
I’ve always been good at pretending. Good at acting. Good at lying. But I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to be happy. Act like I enjoy life. Lie about how I really feel.
Even my closest (friends?) say things about me. It’s indirect, vague, but I know they’re thinking of me when they say it.
I can’t do anything right anymore. I can’t say anything right. I get shut down, ignored, forgotten, or told some bullshit about how I’m young and should live wild and free.
Nothing about your life is free when you’re a prisoner in your own head.
I say that I want to get out of this place, I want to go somewhere new. I keep saying it like it’s going to help me feel better.. like it’s going to solve all my problems.
The problems will just follow me. The problems are a part of me.
I feel disgusting when I eat, but I can’t manage to fully starve myself. I thought maybe I could starve to death, but there’s always food somewhere, always someone expecting me to eat it because that’s what normal people do right? Also fighting your bodies instinct to survive can get really hard.
That being said, In the last week I’ve probably only consumed the number of calories that would sustain a person for a couple days.
Why do I still feel fat and gross then? Why do I still feel ugly and repulsive? Why do I still feel out of control and broken?
I’ve started smoking cigarettes. The cancer sticks I swore to hate I now suck down my lungs. I’m already growing to expect them, need them, want them.
I can’t even drink properly. It’s too much effort. And being drunk doesn’t help my problems the way it used to. It just makes it worse.
I’m trying to drown this numbness, this hate in things that don’t satisfy me. I’m trying to fill some inaccessible gap in my life with friends, work, meaningless relationships, guys that hit on me, drugs, school, family. None of it helps. I may forget for a minute, but what is one minute next to a thousand?
I feel selfish for hating my life. I know other people have more important things to worry about. I feel like people look down on me for being upset about this relationship ending. “Just move on,” “you’ll find someone better.” “You wouldn’t have been happy in the long run.”
Well what do you know? I ask if it’s alright for me to talk about him. They say yes, but I can see it in their eyes that they’re tired of the repetition. They don’t actually care.
Nod your head and lie to me like everyone else does. Like I do to myself.
I don’t feel anything. Or maybe I feel everything and don’t know how to process it. Either way I stare at the wall.
You know you’re fucked up when you can hardly even cry anymore.
I need my therapist, but he won’t schedule me until the past appointments have been paid for, and neither me or my father can pay it right now.
My therapist doesn’t care for me. He just wants my money. If he cared for me he would say “it’s okay. Come on in and talk. We’ll figure the money out later.” But like everyone else he is caught up in the need for slips of paper filling his government account and validating his life. If I were gone he would only be sad that it is one less paycheck in his pocket.
The people I would normally talk to about these things are no longer available. They don’t want/need me or have other things that press them. If I were to go it would make their lives so much easier.
I don’t even care if people are sad anymore. I just want to prove to them that I really do hate life. That I really do want something better than this repetitive existence.
It’s a shame that they won’t really believe me until I’m actually gone.
Okay then. Bye for now.