Just A Rant I Suppose....
There's some days I just want to sit and scream at the sky, even thought I know its all useless and no one will ever hear what it is I'm trying to get out. Its like moving out here has locked me into some shelter that I've stayed out of the city from for so long, trying to run away from depression and disease did me well to end up in isolation. I fucking hated people anyways, so moving almost an hour away from where I hail from was fine for me. I'm happy out here, and I'm content (aside from all the bullshit with Voldemort)but now I have all these doubts and I don't know where I want to be. Do I want to go back to the city after 6years in the woods? For my kid's sake? No, I do not want to go back. But something in me is stirring.. something in me is... seriously off.
Stupid fucking doctors office visit. Went and fucked up my whole mindset. I was acting fine for a while, and even content in the notion that I was possibly gonna be okay. You know, not like cured or anything. But okay in the sense that I was going to live out my days and slowly die from my disease instead of being bombarded by toxic treatment and malicious medications that fuck me up and cause more physical problems than I origininally had. And now there's all this talk of treatment I don't want, and things I'm not going to do. Or listen to. Fuck you. Its my body, my life, and I know me better than anyone. All they want to do is load me up on more meds anyways. Big Pharma has missed me, I can tell. I don't find anything bad about not being 'insured' at the moment. The lack of it made sure they couldn't be funded from my laundry list of problems. Maybe that's why they call it 'insurance'. Because you're 'in' their pocket, and 'sure' to pay. Who knows.. and who cares, honestly. Society doesn't; not enough to pay attention.
I look back over my writings in this journal and aside form the huge gaps in entries, I see the change that's happened to me over the past 13 years. I'm 32 now, not the 19yr old that started this thing; and even though over a decade of time has passed, in a lot of ways, I still feel like the same person I was inside all those years ago. Love still has its bittersweet hold on me as I wallow in anguish from its throes, but I've watched the anger that I started out having when I began this journal, turn into a low simmering depression that encapsulates me. A depression that has permeated every aspect of my body and afflicted me down to my deepest core. Or maybe that's where it radiates from? Maybe that's what I'm composed of. Comprised of. Just a big, fat, smouldering ball of sadness and tears. Who knows... And who cares about that either. I know I'm the only one in that boat.
Slowly sinking...
Stupid fucking doctors office visit. Went and fucked up my whole mindset. I was acting fine for a while, and even content in the notion that I was possibly gonna be okay. You know, not like cured or anything. But okay in the sense that I was going to live out my days and slowly die from my disease instead of being bombarded by toxic treatment and malicious medications that fuck me up and cause more physical problems than I origininally had. And now there's all this talk of treatment I don't want, and things I'm not going to do. Or listen to. Fuck you. Its my body, my life, and I know me better than anyone. All they want to do is load me up on more meds anyways. Big Pharma has missed me, I can tell. I don't find anything bad about not being 'insured' at the moment. The lack of it made sure they couldn't be funded from my laundry list of problems. Maybe that's why they call it 'insurance'. Because you're 'in' their pocket, and 'sure' to pay. Who knows.. and who cares, honestly. Society doesn't; not enough to pay attention.
I look back over my writings in this journal and aside form the huge gaps in entries, I see the change that's happened to me over the past 13 years. I'm 32 now, not the 19yr old that started this thing; and even though over a decade of time has passed, in a lot of ways, I still feel like the same person I was inside all those years ago. Love still has its bittersweet hold on me as I wallow in anguish from its throes, but I've watched the anger that I started out having when I began this journal, turn into a low simmering depression that encapsulates me. A depression that has permeated every aspect of my body and afflicted me down to my deepest core. Or maybe that's where it radiates from? Maybe that's what I'm composed of. Comprised of. Just a big, fat, smouldering ball of sadness and tears. Who knows... And who cares about that either. I know I'm the only one in that boat.
Slowly sinking...