maybe I'll make a livejournal entry
I'm supposed to be doing something for myself. I've been doing so much stuff for everybody else over the past week that I haven't done a thing for me. Contrary to popular belief, I'm relatively ok. There are things I can't do right now, because they'll trigger a memory, or I just plain forget how to do them, but I'm relatively okay. I've been worse. I think.
I've missed writing in my livejournal. I wrote 11 pages in a longhand journal yesterday, but it wasn't all my writing. It was conversations, really. Really, I enjoy being called "you fucking bastard," you should try it sometime. Guaranteed fun for the whole family!
I hate toast. I've been eating toast for the last week. God damned toast. Toast is great, until it's almost all you can eat. Then you're like "god damn, I hate toast. *pause* I'm hungry, I'm going to go make some fucking toast." It's not cool.
I miss being able to write what I want to write about. A few days ago, I told a kid that I'd write them a story when I was feeling better. I'm looking forward to it. I have no idea what it's going to be about yet, but I'm still looking forward to it. Just gotta remember that it's for a kid, and not for anyone who actually reads my journal. No swearing. No bad things. Just a cute little story for a little girl. Gods, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll write a princess story. Heehee. That's amusing, thinking about that with all the crap that's been going on with me.
CP keeps asking me around 10 or so, "so what enlightening piece of information are you going to reveal to me at two AM so I can go to bed early." Those are my words, but it's basically what he says. I always laugh at him, and tell him to get me my pills, 'cause they sedate me, and that seems to be when I talk the most. CP says it's like pulling teeth getting any information out of me, and I agree. I've mentioned to him that it's really interesting that I've always had my journal online (in one incarnation or another) but I'm really a very private person. The first night of this, when I was telling him everything that was going on with me, I couldn't tell him in words out loud. I had to come over and talk to him on MSN, and we stayed up until about five in the morning. It wasn't so cool. No you don't get to read. I'm not ready to broadcast this all to people that may stumble across this livejournal. My friends can know about it, and many do, but strangers? Not a chance.
I'm just about running out of things to say. I wish I wasn't. I'm really enjoying sitting here and typing things that I know are all mine. These are my thoughts, and nobody's calling me a fucking bastard for typing them out. Maybe he's asleep.
We're terrified of therapy. We need it desperately, but we're terrified. Telling adults isn't our fort
I've missed writing in my livejournal. I wrote 11 pages in a longhand journal yesterday, but it wasn't all my writing. It was conversations, really. Really, I enjoy being called "you fucking bastard," you should try it sometime. Guaranteed fun for the whole family!
I hate toast. I've been eating toast for the last week. God damned toast. Toast is great, until it's almost all you can eat. Then you're like "god damn, I hate toast. *pause* I'm hungry, I'm going to go make some fucking toast." It's not cool.
I miss being able to write what I want to write about. A few days ago, I told a kid that I'd write them a story when I was feeling better. I'm looking forward to it. I have no idea what it's going to be about yet, but I'm still looking forward to it. Just gotta remember that it's for a kid, and not for anyone who actually reads my journal. No swearing. No bad things. Just a cute little story for a little girl. Gods, I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll write a princess story. Heehee. That's amusing, thinking about that with all the crap that's been going on with me.
CP keeps asking me around 10 or so, "so what enlightening piece of information are you going to reveal to me at two AM so I can go to bed early." Those are my words, but it's basically what he says. I always laugh at him, and tell him to get me my pills, 'cause they sedate me, and that seems to be when I talk the most. CP says it's like pulling teeth getting any information out of me, and I agree. I've mentioned to him that it's really interesting that I've always had my journal online (in one incarnation or another) but I'm really a very private person. The first night of this, when I was telling him everything that was going on with me, I couldn't tell him in words out loud. I had to come over and talk to him on MSN, and we stayed up until about five in the morning. It wasn't so cool. No you don't get to read. I'm not ready to broadcast this all to people that may stumble across this livejournal. My friends can know about it, and many do, but strangers? Not a chance.
I'm just about running out of things to say. I wish I wasn't. I'm really enjoying sitting here and typing things that I know are all mine. These are my thoughts, and nobody's calling me a fucking bastard for typing them out. Maybe he's asleep.
We're terrified of therapy. We need it desperately, but we're terrified. Telling adults isn't our fort