Whoo boy, am I having one whopper of a “sleepy day”.
I have slept all day except for being awake for Therapy Thursday and breakfast, and I can tell I am not even half done yet. As I type these very words, my head and eyelids are heavy, I keep drifting off into reverie when I am not typing, and I keep tipping the wrong weirds without even crowing it.
That felt strange.
So I’m not looking forward to this particular blogging session. To say the words are not coming easy to me would be a vast understatement. As usual during these periods, I keep drifting off in thought and having to yank myself back to reality and the task at hand in order to get any typing done.
So this ought to be fun. Whee, look at me, I’m dancing on the edge of the wing of a plane in flight and flashing my bare butthole at William Shatner and John Lithgow.
Gaze upon my asshole, ye mighties, and despair!
Yeah, this ought to be a hoot and a half.
If only I had something to talk about besides my pathetically horny thoughts. Something important and impactful. Something less silly.
Oh right! I will soon be experimenting on myself with drugs.
Paging Doctor Fruvous…
Talked with Doc Costin today about the whole “trying out an ADD drug” thang. And he agreed to prescribing me a low dose of Ritalin so we can see what happens.
I am rather nervous about the whole thing because, as he reminded me, all the drugs used to treat ADD are some form of amphetamine, and I have stents in my heart, and so I am a little worried about that.
But I am still going through with it. The potential benefits justify the risk in my mind. If something can fix my chronic indecision, I have got to give it a try.
My mind has been frozen by being pulled in all directions at once for a very long time. It’s like any time I try to make a decision, all the other possibilities that I would thus be denying grab me and pull me back to the center of them all again and I am once more stranded at the infinite crossroads without a map.
And I know there is something that is supposed to be happening to resolve that impasse. Healthy people do not have this problem. They make decisions and act on them out of their own genuine desires all the time, and never look back.
How the fuck is that even possible?
I can only assume that they don’t have powerfully creative minds that are always aware of all the possibilities like I do. They only ever see whatever options are right in front of them and choose from those every single time.
But it’s more than that. Some basic primal urge rising straight from the id must prompt them to keep moving again and maintain the momentum they are only dimly aware they even have, and I am the poor puts with an id so weak it barely takes up space.
Sorry about that, little guy. I swear I am trying to bring you to life and make you healthy and strong again. But the lack of you has left me so limp and deflated that I can only try to pump you up now and then.
I suppose at some point, I am going to have to find the sheer chutzpah to make mnyself take the plunge into right activity whether I feel like it or not.
Don’t hold your fucking breath for that. Most days, I am barely hanging on.
More after the fucking break.
I can’t pretend to be grateful
Because I’m not grateful.
I’m filled with BITTER FUCKING RAGE.
And the very notion of trying to be grateful for this shit stain of a life of mine makes me want to puke from both ends.
I mean, it’s so god damned humiliating.
“Oh wise and benevolent overlord, I am ever so grateful for all the time you spent NOT beating me to death today. And there are so many ways to hurt me that you haven’t gotten around to using on me yet! I am just soiling myself out of gratitude for your less than theoretical maximum abuse of me. Please, may I suck shit from your toes to show just how much I appreciate how good you are to me? PLEASE? ”
Yeah that’s not fucking happening. I refuse to be grateful simply because my life could be worse. That’s so seriously toxic bullshit there. That kind of thinking renders gratitude and indeed just plain good things meaningless because things always COULD be worse and COULD be better, so what does it even frigging matter?
So spare me your empty headed vacuous positivism and your Doug Henning rainbows and unicorns brain rotting bullshit.
I hate you and everyone else disgorging pre-digested platitudes and acting like you have something useful or meaningful to say to me.
You don’t. You can’t. You are so far beneath me and I am so far beyond you that you mewling morons are less than microbes to me and the very idea that you think you know enough to offer me any kind of help would be hilarious if it wasn’t so revolting.
I am alone. I’ve always been alone. I will always be alone. Because nobody can understand me, let alone handle me. I have to walk on the very rims of eggshells around everybody just to be able to get along at all.
If I ever let down my guard and let the “real me” shine through, I would end up in jail. I need this feeble “Mr. Fluffy” persona of mine in order to function at all. Without it I would be a glowering tower of rage and sarcasm and the will to destroy. I would spend every day looking for someone to hurt so that I could actually get rid of same of this rage by putting it into another.
That’s how sadism works, folks. You make other people experience your pain.
So no, I am not fucking grateful. Grateful for what? Pardon me if my standards are a little bit higher than being grateful for all the bad things that have NOT happened to me.
And fuck you, too.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.