(no subject)
I am in a foul mood to say the least.
My doctor did not allow my prescription to be refilled as he wants me to come in for a visit. Of course, with it being the holiday(s), no one is in the office to schedule an appointment or to have me get a temporary prescription. I am now experiencing the withdrawal symptoms (or rather, I have been experiencing the withdrawal symptoms for the past few days) and, as expected, it is less that fun. In the past I have found that sustained eating can temporarily stave off such symptoms, though remaining in a state of constant consumption is not nearly as easy as it sounds. Today my feelings on the matter can be summed up with the phrase “fuck it.” I have no desire to eat, or even make the attempt to eat. Hunger does not even enter into the picture.
I am sullen, depressed, unmotivated, and angry. At the moment the only thing I feel “motivated” to do is to curl up in a quilt and let myself starve to death. Prior to middle school, I was a very happy child. Then everything withered into shades of beige and gray. When I began taking the little pink lies (which are actually purple now that I’ve switched to the generics) my parents noticed that I was a “happier” or at least, a “more agreeable” person. (I began taking the pills for anxiety, not depression.) I have been off of the lies before, but something about this particular instance allows me to see just how much of a difference there is in my personality and mood. While I am not typically “happy” when on them, I do not feel a crushing sense of impending defeat or futility in all my courses of action. I am easier to become motivated about a subject (though -5 + 25 still does not get to 100) and more capable of doing the things that I want for myself and to make other people happier. In short, I can see just how much closer to my idealized concept of who I want to be-who I should be-I am when I am on the lies now that I am deprived of them. It is this which has me furious. The notion that the person I need myself to be can only exist with the aid of some chemical is beyond abhorrent and yet true. That there is a lack (of something) within my brain that causes me to be this way naturally makes me want to do very violent things.
Aha! They shall not get done. You see, as I stated earlier, I don’t feel like doing anything.
Adding to my situation is that She is once again at home in Texas. She goes home for Thanksgiving and I am bereft of Her presence. Then she returns, but Her ex-boyfriend (damnable 61-year-old, millionaire, university art professor that he is) is trying to appease Her and win back Her affections. In their relationship he would fly across the world to see various people (including former ass that he used to grab) at the drop of a hat, but he would not come to Chicago to visit Her. (He did, but only once. In fact this one time, was the only time he visited Her. In every other instance, She was the one who had to make the journey to see him.) Now, as part of a list of things that he must do to prove that the situation has changed, he comes out to see Her for a week. Essentially this means that I cannot see Her for a week. (There is no rule about this and I have fantasies about randomly showing up at Her apartment, stopping him in the middle of a scene and overpowering him, but I maintain distance out of respect and the knowledge that the situation will doubtlessly combust otherwise.) He leaves on Tuesday. (Have you noticed the sudden tense shift in my writing? I have.) Of course, right after he leaves the Christmas/New Year’s break arises so I only am allowed a few days with Her, and these are taken up with an unreasonable amount of work dumped on Her by Her job.
So She is once again away from me for an extended period of time. What’s more, She was planning on seeing an old friend of hers for a New Year’s Eve party, but the geezer demands that She see him on this day. He commands and She obeys. His intention is that he will perform two scenes with Her. (One, I am certain, has already been performed as of this writing.)
In no formal way are we bound to each other. She is not my girlfriend. (Though, from all outward appearances it would seem so.) She may sleep with whomever She so chooses. Apparently I am free to do the same, though the probability of this coming to pass is so low as to not even be worth the time to calculate. Of course, She’s already made it abundantly clear that the thought of me being with another woman irritates Her to no end. Yet while She’s in Texas She freely (and at length) tells me about the people She wants to fuck and how She’s excited for the possibility to try with a friend of hers with an enormous cock, or a female friend that’s supposedly very hot, or etc., etc., etc.
I’m not even in a position to demand certain things from Her. I have no job, my house is a complete and utter mess, I have few friends, and (for the most part) I’m still living off of my parents. I can’t even threaten (if I had any inclination to do so) going off with someone else.
I had more to say, but I really don’t feel like typing any more…
My doctor did not allow my prescription to be refilled as he wants me to come in for a visit. Of course, with it being the holiday(s), no one is in the office to schedule an appointment or to have me get a temporary prescription. I am now experiencing the withdrawal symptoms (or rather, I have been experiencing the withdrawal symptoms for the past few days) and, as expected, it is less that fun. In the past I have found that sustained eating can temporarily stave off such symptoms, though remaining in a state of constant consumption is not nearly as easy as it sounds. Today my feelings on the matter can be summed up with the phrase “fuck it.” I have no desire to eat, or even make the attempt to eat. Hunger does not even enter into the picture.
I am sullen, depressed, unmotivated, and angry. At the moment the only thing I feel “motivated” to do is to curl up in a quilt and let myself starve to death. Prior to middle school, I was a very happy child. Then everything withered into shades of beige and gray. When I began taking the little pink lies (which are actually purple now that I’ve switched to the generics) my parents noticed that I was a “happier” or at least, a “more agreeable” person. (I began taking the pills for anxiety, not depression.) I have been off of the lies before, but something about this particular instance allows me to see just how much of a difference there is in my personality and mood. While I am not typically “happy” when on them, I do not feel a crushing sense of impending defeat or futility in all my courses of action. I am easier to become motivated about a subject (though -5 + 25 still does not get to 100) and more capable of doing the things that I want for myself and to make other people happier. In short, I can see just how much closer to my idealized concept of who I want to be-who I should be-I am when I am on the lies now that I am deprived of them. It is this which has me furious. The notion that the person I need myself to be can only exist with the aid of some chemical is beyond abhorrent and yet true. That there is a lack (of something) within my brain that causes me to be this way naturally makes me want to do very violent things.
Aha! They shall not get done. You see, as I stated earlier, I don’t feel like doing anything.
Adding to my situation is that She is once again at home in Texas. She goes home for Thanksgiving and I am bereft of Her presence. Then she returns, but Her ex-boyfriend (damnable 61-year-old, millionaire, university art professor that he is) is trying to appease Her and win back Her affections. In their relationship he would fly across the world to see various people (including former ass that he used to grab) at the drop of a hat, but he would not come to Chicago to visit Her. (He did, but only once. In fact this one time, was the only time he visited Her. In every other instance, She was the one who had to make the journey to see him.) Now, as part of a list of things that he must do to prove that the situation has changed, he comes out to see Her for a week. Essentially this means that I cannot see Her for a week. (There is no rule about this and I have fantasies about randomly showing up at Her apartment, stopping him in the middle of a scene and overpowering him, but I maintain distance out of respect and the knowledge that the situation will doubtlessly combust otherwise.) He leaves on Tuesday. (Have you noticed the sudden tense shift in my writing? I have.) Of course, right after he leaves the Christmas/New Year’s break arises so I only am allowed a few days with Her, and these are taken up with an unreasonable amount of work dumped on Her by Her job.
So She is once again away from me for an extended period of time. What’s more, She was planning on seeing an old friend of hers for a New Year’s Eve party, but the geezer demands that She see him on this day. He commands and She obeys. His intention is that he will perform two scenes with Her. (One, I am certain, has already been performed as of this writing.)
In no formal way are we bound to each other. She is not my girlfriend. (Though, from all outward appearances it would seem so.) She may sleep with whomever She so chooses. Apparently I am free to do the same, though the probability of this coming to pass is so low as to not even be worth the time to calculate. Of course, She’s already made it abundantly clear that the thought of me being with another woman irritates Her to no end. Yet while She’s in Texas She freely (and at length) tells me about the people She wants to fuck and how She’s excited for the possibility to try with a friend of hers with an enormous cock, or a female friend that’s supposedly very hot, or etc., etc., etc.
I’m not even in a position to demand certain things from Her. I have no job, my house is a complete and utter mess, I have few friends, and (for the most part) I’m still living off of my parents. I can’t even threaten (if I had any inclination to do so) going off with someone else.
I had more to say, but I really don’t feel like typing any more…