For frustration, press four

The hypo-mania is wearing off, or something. I'm shaking, trembling or twitching - I'm not sure which, maybe all three. It's getting hard to focus with my eyes, and tiredness is starting to wash over me. I’m cold, and dress like a caveman in t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt, a sleeveless hooded sweatshirt, arm-warmers, morning wrap and a thick teddy blanket wrapped around my shoulders. If I wear anything more I won't be able to move my arms. I’m ignoring my legs and feet, aching cold despite thick sweatpants, double layers socks, wool socks and slippers not doing a daft. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother putting on socks at all, it's not like it makes any difference if I so was to wrap each foot in a fucking blanket and put them on a heater. It's not until your limbs reach down to room temperature that you will realise just how cold that really is. 

I worry so much about so many things, in general, but a lot more lately. I’m sitting here, scared of damaging my body through starvation and killing my brain with sleep deprivation. And those two combined just can't be good for my poor body. I just wish at least one damn doctor could take my (undiagnosed, but very real) eating disorder seriously. Just because I’m not losing weight or getting malnutrition doesn't mean that I’m fine. I’m not eating, for crying out loud! I can't fucking eat! But then it's easier to just resign and agree that this is probably not gonna kill me. Go back to force feeding myself with two pancakes every other day with a glass of juice or milk and pretend that everything is just fabulous. Fuck my life.

I’ve been thrown between different psychiatric departments and doctors, one worse than the other, for a decade now and all the while I just keep breaking into smaller and smaller pieces. There's nothing they can do for me really. They don't say it, but I know because they never bring up any options, they ask me what I want, and when I answer they say they can't give me that. Then I ask them what my choices are, but I'm not given any. Eventually I just give up. Fine, fuck it, what do I care. To hell with everything! Everything can be explained by my Asperger diagnose anyway, at least that's what they say. I suppose they just love doing that, because Asperger is a permanent condition and then it's out of their hands. Just throw me to the next department then, will ya?

I have no idea what I want anymore. I’m having irrational fears regarding my up coming surgery. Either that they are gonna postpone it cause I’m sort of a mess again, and also I'm scared something will go wrong during the procedure. Someone whispered in my ear that I will die on the operation table. 

Now that voice is hardly a reliable source, considering it's not unusual for me to hear voices in the first place. Most of the time it's just me and Anna, once in a while it's Satan, pretty seldom nowadays Vargyl puts a word in, and then there are these unidentifiable impersonators I sometimes hear. They're giving me warnings with raspy voices. For all I know it could be a whole commune in my head...