"I am the ghost of an infamous suicide."
-Sylvia Plath
Where to begin? The days blur together in misty, drunken hazes. My body is constantly tired. I am miserable, and miserably hoping for something to happen, but there is only air and the razor in my compendium of ways to numb myself. I fail constantly, and don't know how much longer I can keep hoping for change. Waking up is the most difficult thing. Consciousness is painful. Why does it have to be like this? Why, why, why, do I hate so many aspects of myself, and why do I keep changing my mind? Why am I so torn in how I view myself? Why do I even keep on trying?
I wonder why I still consider living--the reasons are entirely extrinsic. I don't want to hurt those around me by losing my life, thus, I keep living, in some shameful fashion. If I were free of all those expectations, would I even be alive? This is an untestable hypothesis.
Saturday marked the first day I bought female clothing. Saturday was a terrible day. The amount of external pressure, the thought of being watched and judged, was almost unbearable. Then there is the problem of feeling flawed, fat, uncurable, every time you think wearing female clothing will fix the problem. I bought a chemise, by the way.
Saturday also meant I was free from work, and drank myself into a stupor. I also binged and purged, which hadn't happened since discharge from the hospital. I cut, deeper than before. I feel nothing, and cannot bear being awake in any sober state. I am uncreative, I am just surviving. What is the point?
More than anything, I want either an excuse to end this, or a tangible reason to live other than pleasing others. The issue is terribly conflicted. The issue needs resolution. If only I could write again.
I was ousted on Saturday. My online persona fell away, and he found out I was male. It didn't end as terribly as I'd predicted, but I felt...worthless and wanted to die. I don't look for a saviour anymore, only ways to numbly pass the time. I pray for commitment to change, in mindset, to creep over me. I wish I was someone else. If not someone else, than nothing, nothing at all.
-Mt
13 July, 2009
06 July, 2009
Tightrope
"Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you."
–Jean-Paul Sartre
Just typing this post is making me cry, because I'm in so much doubt about my ability to manage my life, because I want to believe that I can do something different than what I've been doing. But I was at work yesterday, reading some of "Bipolar Disorder: Demystified," and couldn't help but feel helpless when I read that medication management will be something I have to live, indefinitely. On one hand, I know that, statistically, going off medication is the number one risk for relapse. I also know that most go off the drugs due to side-effects. I also know that medication shouldn't be viewed as a weakness if it helps me live better, but...I really wonder if what I've been taking has been doing anything at all, aside from making me tired and numb all the time. But then, I recall the chapter in that book about...suicide, and really am afraid of what could happen because my moods do change constantly, and what if I had another mixed episode? What if...
I felt distraught reading that book. Sure, I've worked in an affective disorder lab, sure I've been hospitalized twice, and sure, I've struggled with multiple diagnoses for over a decade. Shouldn't I know something by now? Shouldn't I be willing to do something pro-active? But my thoughts keep returning to my year of remission, when I was living holistically, and was surrounded by positive supports and had a lot of structure in school. That short time makes me hope that somehow, if I can just...structure my life better and get more sleep, and eat regularly, that my moods could be less intense and manageable. Even my father said he would like to see me live without having to take medication. But am I just seeking his acceptance then? Do I want to be the good son who isn't "medication-dependent?" There're these problems...and more that just keep gnawing at me: desires to self-harm, fear of rejection, being afraid to be alone in my thoughts, being afraid of losing time, being constantly distant with my feelings, and not living up to my expectations or the ones of those around me.
If freedom is, indeed, "what you do with what's been done to you." How can I free myself from a brain that won't stop, one that is crystal thin? I look outside and want to do so many things, learn so much, but always run into my thoughts. I wish I could escape this somehow; I wish I could experience freedom of doubt and the pain of living the way I do. There is no silence, not when I sleep, not when I wake. I am being pulled in so many directions, and where can I stand? What can I cling to?
-Mt
–Jean-Paul Sartre
Just typing this post is making me cry, because I'm in so much doubt about my ability to manage my life, because I want to believe that I can do something different than what I've been doing. But I was at work yesterday, reading some of "Bipolar Disorder: Demystified," and couldn't help but feel helpless when I read that medication management will be something I have to live, indefinitely. On one hand, I know that, statistically, going off medication is the number one risk for relapse. I also know that most go off the drugs due to side-effects. I also know that medication shouldn't be viewed as a weakness if it helps me live better, but...I really wonder if what I've been taking has been doing anything at all, aside from making me tired and numb all the time. But then, I recall the chapter in that book about...suicide, and really am afraid of what could happen because my moods do change constantly, and what if I had another mixed episode? What if...
I felt distraught reading that book. Sure, I've worked in an affective disorder lab, sure I've been hospitalized twice, and sure, I've struggled with multiple diagnoses for over a decade. Shouldn't I know something by now? Shouldn't I be willing to do something pro-active? But my thoughts keep returning to my year of remission, when I was living holistically, and was surrounded by positive supports and had a lot of structure in school. That short time makes me hope that somehow, if I can just...structure my life better and get more sleep, and eat regularly, that my moods could be less intense and manageable. Even my father said he would like to see me live without having to take medication. But am I just seeking his acceptance then? Do I want to be the good son who isn't "medication-dependent?" There're these problems...and more that just keep gnawing at me: desires to self-harm, fear of rejection, being afraid to be alone in my thoughts, being afraid of losing time, being constantly distant with my feelings, and not living up to my expectations or the ones of those around me.
If freedom is, indeed, "what you do with what's been done to you." How can I free myself from a brain that won't stop, one that is crystal thin? I look outside and want to do so many things, learn so much, but always run into my thoughts. I wish I could escape this somehow; I wish I could experience freedom of doubt and the pain of living the way I do. There is no silence, not when I sleep, not when I wake. I am being pulled in so many directions, and where can I stand? What can I cling to?
-Mt
04 July, 2009
Management
"When you are insane, you are busy being insane all the time...when I was crazy, that was all I was."
–Sylvia Plath
It seems as though I cannot do anything to really manage my life, as things keep slipping away from me, things I should want and keep close. If I could just spiral into oblivion, or have the resolve to make some meaningful changes in my life, then, I like to think, I would be...better off than I am at present. However, I constantly set myself up for these seemingly dramatic lapses in self-management--moments pass, and I feel as though I switch from wanting life to wanting death. Monday and Tuesday, I felt as though I could live well, holistically, and commit to change. Wednesday arrived, and things fell apart again.
This week has been a total disaster, academically, socially, and now, I feel as though the job I love is now at risk due to my negligence. It was the last week of my first round of summer graduate school courses, and I totally blew off my responsibilities. I forgot about a paper I had due on Monday (which I turned in late for 25% off the actual grade of 49/50). Then I put off studying for my exams, working on a project for my Special Education course that was worth most of my grade...I told my therapist that I engage in these avoidant behaviors because the material is simply not engaging...I told her that, were it an English seminar, I'd have much more motivation to read what was assigned and study for grades. But I notice there is absolutely nothing in me that desires to learn about Special Education, nothing that engages me meaningfully. The truth is, I just do what is expected of me because I am utterly afraid of failure. I did all that work this month because I didn't want to get a terrible grade, or look bad in front of my professors. It has been an act, and when I'm not acting, I simply don't care about the work, and figure that I can just get by with minimal effort, as I've always done. Somehow, I have a twisted sense of self: while I have low self-esteem, I have a distorted view of what I am capable of academically because I've done well in that area in spite of many personal obstacles (some I've created, others, I haven't). From my viewpoint, because I've never had to put effort into any academic project to earn a decent grade, I correlate that with my ability, and that view has been reinforced for over a decade. Only, I doubt myself, given recent events, like how I narrowly graduated and had to be hospitalized, or how I got drunk the night before my exams and never studied for them, or how I missed a meeting with the director of a department I know because I would rather be drinking. Let me be frank: I hate this.
Today was utterly terrible, a disaster. I skipped out on a meeting I had made with a professor. I also missed work today. It's so frustrating because I want to work and please people and I want to help my (do I even have one?) future by building relationships with professors, but I constantly deny myself the opportunities I construct. I miss being insane with an eating disorder, I hate drinking and I hate wasting time, but that's all I seem to do. There are so many things I want to accomplsh, but here I am, wasted. I want to volunteer, get in shape, play baseball, not be so self-conscious, stick to my medications and supplements, and read as much as I used to, but all those goals seem like fantasies. In truth, I feel crazy, wanting to jump out of my skin, like I'm being watched, and the sense of self-hatred is so intense, it overlays all my thoughts. I hope for change, but as Sylvia said, "when I was crazy, that was all I was."
-Mt
–Sylvia Plath
It seems as though I cannot do anything to really manage my life, as things keep slipping away from me, things I should want and keep close. If I could just spiral into oblivion, or have the resolve to make some meaningful changes in my life, then, I like to think, I would be...better off than I am at present. However, I constantly set myself up for these seemingly dramatic lapses in self-management--moments pass, and I feel as though I switch from wanting life to wanting death. Monday and Tuesday, I felt as though I could live well, holistically, and commit to change. Wednesday arrived, and things fell apart again.
This week has been a total disaster, academically, socially, and now, I feel as though the job I love is now at risk due to my negligence. It was the last week of my first round of summer graduate school courses, and I totally blew off my responsibilities. I forgot about a paper I had due on Monday (which I turned in late for 25% off the actual grade of 49/50). Then I put off studying for my exams, working on a project for my Special Education course that was worth most of my grade...I told my therapist that I engage in these avoidant behaviors because the material is simply not engaging...I told her that, were it an English seminar, I'd have much more motivation to read what was assigned and study for grades. But I notice there is absolutely nothing in me that desires to learn about Special Education, nothing that engages me meaningfully. The truth is, I just do what is expected of me because I am utterly afraid of failure. I did all that work this month because I didn't want to get a terrible grade, or look bad in front of my professors. It has been an act, and when I'm not acting, I simply don't care about the work, and figure that I can just get by with minimal effort, as I've always done. Somehow, I have a twisted sense of self: while I have low self-esteem, I have a distorted view of what I am capable of academically because I've done well in that area in spite of many personal obstacles (some I've created, others, I haven't). From my viewpoint, because I've never had to put effort into any academic project to earn a decent grade, I correlate that with my ability, and that view has been reinforced for over a decade. Only, I doubt myself, given recent events, like how I narrowly graduated and had to be hospitalized, or how I got drunk the night before my exams and never studied for them, or how I missed a meeting with the director of a department I know because I would rather be drinking. Let me be frank: I hate this.
Today was utterly terrible, a disaster. I skipped out on a meeting I had made with a professor. I also missed work today. It's so frustrating because I want to work and please people and I want to help my (do I even have one?) future by building relationships with professors, but I constantly deny myself the opportunities I construct. I miss being insane with an eating disorder, I hate drinking and I hate wasting time, but that's all I seem to do. There are so many things I want to accomplsh, but here I am, wasted. I want to volunteer, get in shape, play baseball, not be so self-conscious, stick to my medications and supplements, and read as much as I used to, but all those goals seem like fantasies. In truth, I feel crazy, wanting to jump out of my skin, like I'm being watched, and the sense of self-hatred is so intense, it overlays all my thoughts. I hope for change, but as Sylvia said, "when I was crazy, that was all I was."
-Mt
21 June, 2009
Blaming the Dark
"It's easy to blame the dark: the mouth of a door, the cellar's belly."
-Plath
It used to be easy to live in shame when no one was watching, but it felt like everyone was. When the only concerns I had were not failing myself, endless, empty calories, and the sharp edge of a bone, loose-fitting clothes and endless exercise. Those years I must have been so crazy, pent-up, manic, and ennervated by countless forces I brought upon myself. Those years...lost, and as I look back, I find myself wanting the drive to live like that again because, well, current things feel dull, bloated, hazy.
So what if I haven't binged or purged in over a month. I'd almost take the eating disorder over the alcohol addiction, but they cannot coexist, and my body is already feeling so weak from stupid mistakes that have left me feeling crippled. My body feels as though it is no longer mine, no longer desirous of having me. I can't blame it, really.
On Friday, I didn't volunteer as planned. I saw my psychiatrist instead. In his almost gas-lamp glowing office, I told him how things were going, lied about my drinking habits, and wanted to squirm out of my seat on his couch. I again told him about how I couldn't sleep, and asked for a sleep aid. He was reluctant to prescribe me even the soporific anti-derpessant he ended up prescribing me,let alone Ambien, or Lunesta. This was disappointing. Otherwise, he seemed upbeat about my situation...I wish I was.
On saturday I went to the shoppes with my brother. Inside one glitzy fashion outlet store, I felt so out of place. I knew every piece of male clothing I tried on I would hate, because I'd gained weight, because I couldn't be like I used to. My brother wanted me to try on some fancy, Japanese jeans, which I did (they were my size afterall)--I almost wanted to scream in the dressing room. I knew months ago they'd have been loose on me. I later, kept glancing at the female clothes...wondering why females have such a variety in tailored expression, whereas males are so limited by their choices.
I worked today, and I feel surrounded by such positive people, and I am alone at times. Part of me wants to leave this life, buy a new bike, join a team and live a more positive life, but what about the past? I seem to cling to these habits and thoughts...comparing myself constantly to others, and avoiding tings that must be done. I remind myself of Plath, that I cannot blame the dark for my problems, though it is easy. An explanation isn't needed for why I'm here, why I suffer. I know I create it to a degree, and I know part of life is suffering. However, I am also reminded of Viktor Frankl (whose Works I've been re-reading), who said: "suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice." So I'm forced to wonder, at what point will I find meaning in my own suffering? And when I do, will I be able to recognize it?
-Mt
-Plath
It used to be easy to live in shame when no one was watching, but it felt like everyone was. When the only concerns I had were not failing myself, endless, empty calories, and the sharp edge of a bone, loose-fitting clothes and endless exercise. Those years I must have been so crazy, pent-up, manic, and ennervated by countless forces I brought upon myself. Those years...lost, and as I look back, I find myself wanting the drive to live like that again because, well, current things feel dull, bloated, hazy.
So what if I haven't binged or purged in over a month. I'd almost take the eating disorder over the alcohol addiction, but they cannot coexist, and my body is already feeling so weak from stupid mistakes that have left me feeling crippled. My body feels as though it is no longer mine, no longer desirous of having me. I can't blame it, really.
On Friday, I didn't volunteer as planned. I saw my psychiatrist instead. In his almost gas-lamp glowing office, I told him how things were going, lied about my drinking habits, and wanted to squirm out of my seat on his couch. I again told him about how I couldn't sleep, and asked for a sleep aid. He was reluctant to prescribe me even the soporific anti-derpessant he ended up prescribing me,let alone Ambien, or Lunesta. This was disappointing. Otherwise, he seemed upbeat about my situation...I wish I was.
On saturday I went to the shoppes with my brother. Inside one glitzy fashion outlet store, I felt so out of place. I knew every piece of male clothing I tried on I would hate, because I'd gained weight, because I couldn't be like I used to. My brother wanted me to try on some fancy, Japanese jeans, which I did (they were my size afterall)--I almost wanted to scream in the dressing room. I knew months ago they'd have been loose on me. I later, kept glancing at the female clothes...wondering why females have such a variety in tailored expression, whereas males are so limited by their choices.
I worked today, and I feel surrounded by such positive people, and I am alone at times. Part of me wants to leave this life, buy a new bike, join a team and live a more positive life, but what about the past? I seem to cling to these habits and thoughts...comparing myself constantly to others, and avoiding tings that must be done. I remind myself of Plath, that I cannot blame the dark for my problems, though it is easy. An explanation isn't needed for why I'm here, why I suffer. I know I create it to a degree, and I know part of life is suffering. However, I am also reminded of Viktor Frankl (whose Works I've been re-reading), who said: "suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice." So I'm forced to wonder, at what point will I find meaning in my own suffering? And when I do, will I be able to recognize it?
-Mt
18 June, 2009
Impairment
He looks at me and asks how I got hair on my face. I tell him I didn't for the past few days. He tells me he has. He is fifty years-old, though perhaps much younger mentally. From his wheel-chair, he's rolled countless bowling balls down a ramp onto the alley, landing strikes and spares, constantly expressive in ways I am truly envious of. There are others here. Other people, just like me, though, I wonder--do they consider themselves ever to be broken? Do they ever hate their body for being the way it is, or brain for being touched by fire?
Madness is a word I've seldom used to describe my illness, or, more precisely, emotional impairment. But it is apt. For weeks in spite of better judgement, I've been drinking 16 drinks a day. The average for a "normal person" is three. I've thought of cutting myself again, wanting to starve again, been frustrated, avoidant, ignorant of things like school and relationships. I am a farce in front of people I cannot bear to face, bear to let them find out how broken I am. Only when I am around those I've wanted to care for, help succeed, like that man with cerebral palsy and g-d knows what else. Is it pity? Is it some sick way I try to bolster my own esteem? Probably? I don't know...and if it is, I should just die for such twisted thinking. I don't even think teaching, based on what I've learned in my special education classes is going to save me, gratify me in any way. Again, more self-doubt.
To be fair though, I stopped drinking on Monday. I'd given up that morning after drinking three beers right when I got out of bed. I felt so disgusted with my body, so tired and sick, that I stopped. The anxiety that followed me that day forced me to take Abilify and Naltrexone (an opioid blocker) to help reduce the cravings. My thoughts are stable, mostly, I suppose, but I am frightened, frustrated, and I wish I could undo so many things...but I can't.
How can I learn to live with this...disease, impairment, thing that is so overwhelming part of me I at times see it as me? Other people won't let their dis-ability define them, so why should I let something define me? Self-acceptance seems so natural for some people, so thought-less, easy...and here I am, trudging around avoiding myself at all costs. I am beginning to tire of it all. I feel it physically, in tendons worn, in my thought processes that are scatter-shot, slow-moving at times, screaming or totally blank in other moments. And I'm forced to ask--how do others think? Am I so different, and if not, then what the hell is wrong with me?
Tomorrow I will be a volunteer again. I will feel guilty at times, broken, knowing that I cannot express myself as freely as the other people there. The other volunteers will laugh and smile, while I try to, wishing more than anything to be far away, alone, with my racing thoughts and steely unease. I'll see what happens though...At least, for the time being, I am not physically impaired.
-Mt
Madness is a word I've seldom used to describe my illness, or, more precisely, emotional impairment. But it is apt. For weeks in spite of better judgement, I've been drinking 16 drinks a day. The average for a "normal person" is three. I've thought of cutting myself again, wanting to starve again, been frustrated, avoidant, ignorant of things like school and relationships. I am a farce in front of people I cannot bear to face, bear to let them find out how broken I am. Only when I am around those I've wanted to care for, help succeed, like that man with cerebral palsy and g-d knows what else. Is it pity? Is it some sick way I try to bolster my own esteem? Probably? I don't know...and if it is, I should just die for such twisted thinking. I don't even think teaching, based on what I've learned in my special education classes is going to save me, gratify me in any way. Again, more self-doubt.
To be fair though, I stopped drinking on Monday. I'd given up that morning after drinking three beers right when I got out of bed. I felt so disgusted with my body, so tired and sick, that I stopped. The anxiety that followed me that day forced me to take Abilify and Naltrexone (an opioid blocker) to help reduce the cravings. My thoughts are stable, mostly, I suppose, but I am frightened, frustrated, and I wish I could undo so many things...but I can't.
How can I learn to live with this...disease, impairment, thing that is so overwhelming part of me I at times see it as me? Other people won't let their dis-ability define them, so why should I let something define me? Self-acceptance seems so natural for some people, so thought-less, easy...and here I am, trudging around avoiding myself at all costs. I am beginning to tire of it all. I feel it physically, in tendons worn, in my thought processes that are scatter-shot, slow-moving at times, screaming or totally blank in other moments. And I'm forced to ask--how do others think? Am I so different, and if not, then what the hell is wrong with me?
Tomorrow I will be a volunteer again. I will feel guilty at times, broken, knowing that I cannot express myself as freely as the other people there. The other volunteers will laugh and smile, while I try to, wishing more than anything to be far away, alone, with my racing thoughts and steely unease. I'll see what happens though...At least, for the time being, I am not physically impaired.
-Mt
09 June, 2009
Trapline
"It takes a certain type to be devoured daily, to slide into each fish's jaw with no song in my throat..."
-Cecily Parks
You feel it again and laugh (why laugh?). Take another sip of booze, cry. Laugh. Feel up, down--a torrent of terrible anxieties. You're smoking a pack a day now (When did you ever smoke that much?). The changes in mood are something you've noticed, can attribute, could explain ad hoc, ad nauseum, but you won't...you're trapped, or don't want to think about the "why" any longer. Everything must be so complicated for you, and everything is meshed in guilt, and endless impulsive tendencies. You can't sleep, don't really want to eat, just drink, immerse yourself in virtual landscapes. Your graduate program began today, and you told yourself you'd clean up, not drink, cut back, get fit, do so many things, but here you are, "devoured daily," in the "fish's jaw," your mad brain.
You know all too well how things will end if you keep going like this--it's happened twice before, hospitalized, twice before, embarassed twice before, laughed at yourself, twice before. You contend for yourself the dumbest things, names, words, and, ah, whatever else comes to mind. Confessions come to mind...
You're guilty of leading someone on, for months, online, that you're female...the person is infatuated with you, is inspired by you. You want to tell this person the truth. Hate how fake you feel, but are constantly undermined by your own fear of rejection. You're guilty of hating people for doing better than you, when you know you could have done better yourself. You hate yourself for hating these people, and want to like these people for succeeding, but can't. You are guilty of drinking easily 12 drinks a day, just to not feel the crippling anxiety. You are guilty of lying to your parents about how things are going. You are guilty of hurting your body knowingly. You are guilty of never taking your mental illnesses and substance abuse issues seriously. You are guilty of feeling sexually displaced and for hating your body. You are guilty of being a fraud...
You never feel right, switch your resolve throughout the day. You are losing hope again. Last night, you felt the twinge of depression again. Is it coming? You know you have so much to live for, but sip on 50.00$ Japanese malt whiskey and contemplate how terrible your life is. You have a job; you have school; you have a family; you have friends; you have people that care for and love you; you CAN write (and won awards for it, dammit). What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Isn't there something more to life than that? You feel caught in a trapline...hexed...the ice clinks against the glass.
-Mt
-Cecily Parks
You feel it again and laugh (why laugh?). Take another sip of booze, cry. Laugh. Feel up, down--a torrent of terrible anxieties. You're smoking a pack a day now (When did you ever smoke that much?). The changes in mood are something you've noticed, can attribute, could explain ad hoc, ad nauseum, but you won't...you're trapped, or don't want to think about the "why" any longer. Everything must be so complicated for you, and everything is meshed in guilt, and endless impulsive tendencies. You can't sleep, don't really want to eat, just drink, immerse yourself in virtual landscapes. Your graduate program began today, and you told yourself you'd clean up, not drink, cut back, get fit, do so many things, but here you are, "devoured daily," in the "fish's jaw," your mad brain.
You know all too well how things will end if you keep going like this--it's happened twice before, hospitalized, twice before, embarassed twice before, laughed at yourself, twice before. You contend for yourself the dumbest things, names, words, and, ah, whatever else comes to mind. Confessions come to mind...
You're guilty of leading someone on, for months, online, that you're female...the person is infatuated with you, is inspired by you. You want to tell this person the truth. Hate how fake you feel, but are constantly undermined by your own fear of rejection. You're guilty of hating people for doing better than you, when you know you could have done better yourself. You hate yourself for hating these people, and want to like these people for succeeding, but can't. You are guilty of drinking easily 12 drinks a day, just to not feel the crippling anxiety. You are guilty of lying to your parents about how things are going. You are guilty of hurting your body knowingly. You are guilty of never taking your mental illnesses and substance abuse issues seriously. You are guilty of feeling sexually displaced and for hating your body. You are guilty of being a fraud...
You never feel right, switch your resolve throughout the day. You are losing hope again. Last night, you felt the twinge of depression again. Is it coming? You know you have so much to live for, but sip on 50.00$ Japanese malt whiskey and contemplate how terrible your life is. You have a job; you have school; you have a family; you have friends; you have people that care for and love you; you CAN write (and won awards for it, dammit). What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Isn't there something more to life than that? You feel caught in a trapline...hexed...the ice clinks against the glass.
-Mt
01 June, 2009
Stable, Mostly
I don't know how to describe what I feel any longer. I feel distant from my emotions and passions, yet still drawn up in compulsive behaviors, consistent habits that frustrate me: drinking, smoking, spending money I don't have to sustain these habits. I will say I am ashamed that I don't see change in my life, though perhaps things are more stable now than they were (I haven't purged since coming out of the hospital; I haven't cut; I haven't wanted to die). Yet, I still feel hopeless right now because in the moment I'm suffocating on thoughts to drink or avoid doing things I should do today. I've gained weight, hate my body and miss the old body I had, but I cannot do a thing about that because my knee is in a lot of pain. And it is strange, but recently I've been really disconnected from my body, distracted by the people in this online world, and the communities on there. In a sense, I feel disembodied because of the game. One positive thing I can mention is that I did successfully write a short story this past week: 2100 words for a contest. I'm not a prose person, but I enjoyed writing that.
I look outside, and it is a pleasant day...good for a bike-ride perhaps, which I may do. I have thank you notes to fill out for people who sent me graduation cards. I got my job at the Natural Foods market back, but probably won't begin working (part time, weekends) until school starts. Speaking of which, I'm terribly worried about school. It begins next Monday--or is it today? I hope it isn't today. I need to really focus this month and not drink...just give myself up to school. My knee is absolutely killing me!
-Mt
I look outside, and it is a pleasant day...good for a bike-ride perhaps, which I may do. I have thank you notes to fill out for people who sent me graduation cards. I got my job at the Natural Foods market back, but probably won't begin working (part time, weekends) until school starts. Speaking of which, I'm terribly worried about school. It begins next Monday--or is it today? I hope it isn't today. I need to really focus this month and not drink...just give myself up to school. My knee is absolutely killing me!
-Mt
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