The thoughts continuation
I don't remember where I left off, so I'll just continue this string of thought.
I'm on lunch. I ate Arby's again because it's right by my apartment and work. They're all on the same block. I drive to each of them.
Oh yes I was talking about how I'm losing control. This is the same same same thing that happened in December and I never ever wanted to feel the damp oppresive floor of the well shaft ever again. But I've already fallen in. And I know I'm going to have to hit the bottom before someone can lower a rope or bucket.
Damn, losing control...focus Evan. It's an internal dichotomy. December, I became someone I absolutely hate. This...thing...monster...whatever takes me over. It makes me always angry, always. Just so fucking angry all the time. Like I'm always at the end of my rope. I'm an oven, left on at 400 degrees. Then I get to this point where I'm still angry, but so worn out from the incessant intensity that I morph into this amorphous blob of irritability. Meanwhile, inside myself, I can see all of it happening but can't shut my fucking mouth or put a stop to the outrageous thoughts. I am there, though, inside watching this lunatic's coup d'etat.
And she's a bitch.
I hate her. I hate her so much. She's crass, she's litigious, she's selfish, jealous, weak and immature and the worst part of it is she's so mean to me and she's mean to my friends. And NO ONE is mean to my fucking friends.
I don't know how to battle this anymore. It's greatly apparent to me that I can't do it alone. On the zoloft, I was myself...toned down. It was me. More me than without. But it was pastel me.
I have a month until my health insurance kicks in and I can actually do something...but a month? A month is a long time to live in the bottom of a well.
I'm on lunch. I ate Arby's again because it's right by my apartment and work. They're all on the same block. I drive to each of them.
Oh yes I was talking about how I'm losing control. This is the same same same thing that happened in December and I never ever wanted to feel the damp oppresive floor of the well shaft ever again. But I've already fallen in. And I know I'm going to have to hit the bottom before someone can lower a rope or bucket.
Damn, losing control...focus Evan. It's an internal dichotomy. December, I became someone I absolutely hate. This...thing...monster...whatever takes me over. It makes me always angry, always. Just so fucking angry all the time. Like I'm always at the end of my rope. I'm an oven, left on at 400 degrees. Then I get to this point where I'm still angry, but so worn out from the incessant intensity that I morph into this amorphous blob of irritability. Meanwhile, inside myself, I can see all of it happening but can't shut my fucking mouth or put a stop to the outrageous thoughts. I am there, though, inside watching this lunatic's coup d'etat.
And she's a bitch.
I hate her. I hate her so much. She's crass, she's litigious, she's selfish, jealous, weak and immature and the worst part of it is she's so mean to me and she's mean to my friends. And NO ONE is mean to my fucking friends.
I don't know how to battle this anymore. It's greatly apparent to me that I can't do it alone. On the zoloft, I was myself...toned down. It was me. More me than without. But it was pastel me.
I have a month until my health insurance kicks in and I can actually do something...but a month? A month is a long time to live in the bottom of a well.