Archive for May, 2011

What drives me crazy:

Going somewhere where you have to check off your medication, or your psych history, or your “have you ever been diagnosed with,” or your “have you ever been treated for,” or where somebody asks about the scars.

And then they say blah blah blah and you say “yes” to therapy and medication and then they say “ok, well that’s good then.”




I really don’t ever have anything to look forward to.

Given the trajectory of my life/career/whatever, I’m not sure how to change that or when it would be realistic to expect change.  I just work. I’m always working. I finish one thing only to find myself already behind on something else.  If I “take time off” it’s ruined, I can’t relax, because I’m preoccupied/weighed down with the knowledge that while I”m not working on the to-do list, it’s getting longer, things aren’t getting done, and when I return to it, it’s going to be even worse than when I left it.

It pretty much sucks.

I have spent the past few days feeling pretty crazy. The mediation really wiped me out, and i had gone into it with only about 4 hours of sleep, so by the time we got home, I was really fried.  But I had a ton of work to do (I can’t refuse any work these days, despite needing to write two diss chapters in three months, because I don’t get summer funding and I don’t have enough money in the bank to pay my bills and rent for the summer).  About 8 pm I got hit with the crazies and I cried hard ’til about 12 and then leaked and sniveled and writhed ’til about 2 am – I was on my feet in the art room filling orders, so I could go through the motions, but it was mostly uncontrollable and scary and consuming and vast… something. I still don’t have words for this stuff.  Intellectually, I now know that those episodes will eventually pass, that I’ll come out the other side of the worst of it, more or less, and that things will stop feeling unbearable.  But when they’re happening, all that stuff I know intellectually evaporates – it doesn’t matter or isn’t real or something.  But that they can hit me like this even after all this fucking therapy and medication and paying attention and shit is really frustrating, and that they feel so awful and so overwhelming and uncontrollable that I am afraid I’m going to die, except I kind of want to die so I don’t have to feel like that anymore, is simultaneously scary and maddening. I mean, it pisses me off – it’s fucking ridiculous.  It especially pisses me off (and they are probably exponentially worse in these situations) that this shit is largely happening, or at least to the extent that it is, because of OTHER PEOPLE FUCKING WITH ME.  I really get tired of that victim card, and I get disgusted and enraged that somebody can push my buttons like this. I can’t quite put words on how furious it makes me, that somebody else is fucking with my equilibrium like that. It makes me fucking murderous when I’m done being paralyzed by crazy-emotions-and-physiology-land.  I mean, “what klonopin?”  And “why me?” and all that other useless shit.  When do I get to stop working so hard that I’m killing myself, huh? When do I get to stop living like this? Shit like that.  It’s useless, a useless sticky tangle.

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