[Subject Removed: Irrelevancy]
It's that time again, my six-monthly bout of getting things of my chest... and yet again, there's a lot of it, most of which I've complained of before.
I've been feeling... I dunno, especially sensitive and lonely lately. Especially since I had that breakdown a few weeks ago, because I started hearing whispering in the night when I'm trying to sleep. For a while, it was all the time... all day, every day. It tries very hard to convince me it's not in my head, promising me things I want but can never have, apologising, voices fighting with each other... my head's pretty fucked. Then, more often than not, just as I'm dropping off I'll hear a bang in my head, or a particularly loud whisper, and it snaps me right back awake and sets my body off trying to panic, which it can't really manage because of the medication I'm on, but it has a bloody good attempt anyway. Certainly, over the past week or so, I've been better at blocking it out. I don't hear most of what they say, just an odd word here or there and then I don't dwell on it, like I did previously. Up until last week, even knowing that it was all in my head, I'd sit and breathe more quietly, try to quiet my mind, I'd sit straining to try and make out the words, rarely to any avail. It's comforting that I can't tell what they're saying anymore (mostly), but annoying that I'm still hearing things.
The worst thing is that I can't talk about it. I've... mentioned some of it to Kriss, but only some. Same with Mitch, I've just handed out some bare, vague details so he can believe I'm alright. That's another thing that bothers me a little - no matter how bad I feel, the moment anyone asks I've got an automatic smile, everything's fine. Or so I say. My brain automatically stops me saying anything, because it's apparently more important that everyone thinks I'm alright than it is for me to actually be alright. My upbringing has conditioned me to the point where if I need or want something, the only way to get it is to do it myself. Don't ask for help, you won't get it. I can't even ask someone for a feckin' drink unless I'm in desperate need. I have to seriously psyche myself up to ask the Job Centre or A4e for help, and when my reward is getting shot down immediately, it's no wonder I can't de-condition myself.
To the outside world, I'm well-adjusted, coping just fine. I get by. Inside I'm shrivelled, dying. I have no hope for the future, no plans beyond 'get a job' and 'move out of this flat', which will have to be done in that order and probably won't ever happen. Every opportunity I try to take is denied me. I've had exactly one positive step in the past six months,finally being accepted onto the Electrical Engineering course I applied for, and it was immediately followed by everything that could fuck up doing so spectacularly.
I have my cats, and they are amazing, and I love them to the ends of the Earth. I have two friends I can count on, and I also love them to the ends of the Earth. I couldn't have gotten this far without them, I know it, and there's nothing I can do to show how much I appreciate it and love them. The same applies to Mother, and John. They've helped keep me to not worry about how shitty a situation I'm in, and I am once more forever grateful.
I owe so much, and have nothing to give. Or rather... nothing to give that anyone wants. I can't keep pretending that everything is fine, because it's not. It's far from it, but my brain won't let me admit it to anyone except myself. All I want to do is run away, just never stop running because if I do... I don't know. I don't know what I'd be running from, or why, because it's just everything and I can't deal with it despite my claims to the contrary.
I'm not the only one in a shitty place - Chrissy has been having a bad time lately, if she's to be believed. She was meant to have been back in Liverpool, and she did come back. Didn't call, text, message, or anything, despite the fact she was supposed to be staying here. We both know full well that just being around each other is our cure for fucking everything, and I wanted to help her. Despite myself, I wanted to help her feel better and get back to normal, and I wanted the same for myself. I'm finally done with her, though... I don't want to know. Too many times I've allowed myself to believe I'm not just being used, that she does care, and every single time I just get fucking burned. Chrissy... I loved you like no-one else. You really are the closest I've been to a soulmate, and I know you felt the same way. It doesn't matter anymore, though. I wish you well in life... but I don't want to know how that turns out.
I can at least end on a sort-of positive note - for years, I've made everyone aware that should something happen and I end up in hospital, make sure the doctors/nurses know that if I wake up with a drip in me, it's not staying there. Not going into detail, but I discovered a couple of weeks ago that y'know what? As horrible as it is, I can live with a drip if I have to. So, that's not a concern anymore. I fucking hated the feeling of it being in there, and I could feel it the whole damned time, but... it wasn't as bad as I was expecting.
...for once, I don't feel any better having had a rant. Just... drained, still trapped behind a wall of my own making with no hope of escape. That's the very worst about this whole situation I find myself in - I can bitch that people won't hire me, that there's no help, but ultimately... I got myself into this mess. It's my own fault I'm going nowhere, and it's frustrating that every attempt I make at changing it fails.
So, yeah... fuck you, Sputin. Just... fuck you.
I've been feeling... I dunno, especially sensitive and lonely lately. Especially since I had that breakdown a few weeks ago, because I started hearing whispering in the night when I'm trying to sleep. For a while, it was all the time... all day, every day. It tries very hard to convince me it's not in my head, promising me things I want but can never have, apologising, voices fighting with each other... my head's pretty fucked. Then, more often than not, just as I'm dropping off I'll hear a bang in my head, or a particularly loud whisper, and it snaps me right back awake and sets my body off trying to panic, which it can't really manage because of the medication I'm on, but it has a bloody good attempt anyway. Certainly, over the past week or so, I've been better at blocking it out. I don't hear most of what they say, just an odd word here or there and then I don't dwell on it, like I did previously. Up until last week, even knowing that it was all in my head, I'd sit and breathe more quietly, try to quiet my mind, I'd sit straining to try and make out the words, rarely to any avail. It's comforting that I can't tell what they're saying anymore (mostly), but annoying that I'm still hearing things.
The worst thing is that I can't talk about it. I've... mentioned some of it to Kriss, but only some. Same with Mitch, I've just handed out some bare, vague details so he can believe I'm alright. That's another thing that bothers me a little - no matter how bad I feel, the moment anyone asks I've got an automatic smile, everything's fine. Or so I say. My brain automatically stops me saying anything, because it's apparently more important that everyone thinks I'm alright than it is for me to actually be alright. My upbringing has conditioned me to the point where if I need or want something, the only way to get it is to do it myself. Don't ask for help, you won't get it. I can't even ask someone for a feckin' drink unless I'm in desperate need. I have to seriously psyche myself up to ask the Job Centre or A4e for help, and when my reward is getting shot down immediately, it's no wonder I can't de-condition myself.
To the outside world, I'm well-adjusted, coping just fine. I get by. Inside I'm shrivelled, dying. I have no hope for the future, no plans beyond 'get a job' and 'move out of this flat', which will have to be done in that order and probably won't ever happen. Every opportunity I try to take is denied me. I've had exactly one positive step in the past six months,finally being accepted onto the Electrical Engineering course I applied for, and it was immediately followed by everything that could fuck up doing so spectacularly.
I have my cats, and they are amazing, and I love them to the ends of the Earth. I have two friends I can count on, and I also love them to the ends of the Earth. I couldn't have gotten this far without them, I know it, and there's nothing I can do to show how much I appreciate it and love them. The same applies to Mother, and John. They've helped keep me to not worry about how shitty a situation I'm in, and I am once more forever grateful.
I owe so much, and have nothing to give. Or rather... nothing to give that anyone wants. I can't keep pretending that everything is fine, because it's not. It's far from it, but my brain won't let me admit it to anyone except myself. All I want to do is run away, just never stop running because if I do... I don't know. I don't know what I'd be running from, or why, because it's just everything and I can't deal with it despite my claims to the contrary.
I'm not the only one in a shitty place - Chrissy has been having a bad time lately, if she's to be believed. She was meant to have been back in Liverpool, and she did come back. Didn't call, text, message, or anything, despite the fact she was supposed to be staying here. We both know full well that just being around each other is our cure for fucking everything, and I wanted to help her. Despite myself, I wanted to help her feel better and get back to normal, and I wanted the same for myself. I'm finally done with her, though... I don't want to know. Too many times I've allowed myself to believe I'm not just being used, that she does care, and every single time I just get fucking burned. Chrissy... I loved you like no-one else. You really are the closest I've been to a soulmate, and I know you felt the same way. It doesn't matter anymore, though. I wish you well in life... but I don't want to know how that turns out.
I can at least end on a sort-of positive note - for years, I've made everyone aware that should something happen and I end up in hospital, make sure the doctors/nurses know that if I wake up with a drip in me, it's not staying there. Not going into detail, but I discovered a couple of weeks ago that y'know what? As horrible as it is, I can live with a drip if I have to. So, that's not a concern anymore. I fucking hated the feeling of it being in there, and I could feel it the whole damned time, but... it wasn't as bad as I was expecting.
...for once, I don't feel any better having had a rant. Just... drained, still trapped behind a wall of my own making with no hope of escape. That's the very worst about this whole situation I find myself in - I can bitch that people won't hire me, that there's no help, but ultimately... I got myself into this mess. It's my own fault I'm going nowhere, and it's frustrating that every attempt I make at changing it fails.
So, yeah... fuck you, Sputin. Just... fuck you.