Just Another Day

I’m not doing well.  I’m just not.  Emotionally I’m a wreck and I don’t care about anything except my goddamn cycle.  Wouldn’t you be if you had to be on your cycle ten days and counting when you weren’t supposed to even be on it for another two weeks?  And you knew that the reason for it was the fucking medication you didn’t want to be on in the first place?  Would you be able to focus on anything else?

I can’t.  And I’ve got months of this left.  Months. Plural.  Period.  Nothing feels normal to me.  I don’t want to do anything.  I don’t like seeing people.  Work, which I used to enjoy because I got to see people, makes me anxious to leave so I don’t have to see or talk to anyone.  I don’t want to be around friends.  I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday at all this year, and I tried to make sure not a lot of people knew about it.  I just don’t want attention.  I don’t want to be around anyone.  Except The Mormon.  He’s always okay.

But I have trouble talking to him sometimes.  Anytime the subject of my health comes up, I get quiet because it makes me think all these depressing thoughts, and like usual, I can’t focus on anything else at all.  But then he worries because I’m not speaking, and he begs me to say something to him, and I know I have nothing at all good to say because I can’t think of anything good, and he asks me to tell him what I’m thinking, and what am I supposed to tell him, that I want to die?  That never goes over well.  It hurts him and I don’t want to do that.  Or he gets frustrated because he can’t do anything to change it, and his words come out all irritated and rushed as he tries to frantically talk me out of my stupor, and I don’t say anything more at all because after I’ve said the one thing that’s on my mind, it isn’t really necessary to say anything else.

It isn’t that I’m going to harm myself.  I’m not.  A month or so ago–I don’t know, I have no conception of time these days–I promised myself not to, just for him.  But when I’m sitting on the couch staring into nothingness and I can’t interest myself with anything that used to interest me or anything at all–at all–and I’m just existing because that’s what everybody thinks I should do…I can’t think of any way to escape from it.  I feel panicked because there’s no direction to turn then, when nothing is interesting, and all I can think about is dying because that’s the only way I know of to get away from everything.  What would you do if nothing was interesting?  Nothing? I don’t like writing.  I don’t even like writing in this thing; this feels like a chore to me, but I do it because I think I should.  I can’t read because the words just go in front of my face and then a few pages later I’ll realize I haven’t read anything.

I can’t sleep.  In fact, at the end of the night when I know it’s bedtime and I have to go to sleep so I don’t have more seizures, I get panicked at the idea of going to bed.  I used to like going to sleep just to see what weird dreams my head would conjure.  But I don’t care if I dream or not now; I just don’t like going to sleep.  It worries me.  I am afraid to sleep. That isn’t even logical.  It makes me feel like I’m wasting time or something.  It makes me feel incredibly alone because everybody else is sleeping too, and then it’s just me, alone with my own darkness and not able to lose consciousness.

In rather pleasanter news that at one time would have made me way more excited than I am, I ran into L’Owen on the way to see The Mormon at work yesterday.  He asked me how everything is going; I gave him a brief summary.  I wasn’t certain exactly which parts The Mormon had told him, and when he asked whether my family is helping, I laughed and said, “Well…I guess they’re trying to.”  I told him about my brother, and then that my brother’s 14.  His shock was evident.  I explained that my sister is psychotic and that my dad’s pretty much the same way.

He said, “Well, you’ve got your mom, and Dean’s a really good guy.”  Then he told me if I ever needed anybody outside the usual circle of people I talk to, to contact him.  “You know I’m very fond of you.”  I thanked him of course, said good-bye, and went up to see The Mormon, to whom the first thing I said was, “L’Owen says he’s very fond of me,” with a grin.

“I’m going to have to keep an eye on that guy,” he said.