The shadow cloak of my medicines is wearing off. I can see through them. And how I hate what I see. Through the fuzzy mist that held me warm and safe, but made me unable to connect with my true feelings - I now see those true feelings. How much I hate my life here, how horribly desperate and lonely I feel, how little I care about life even though things are getting better. I'm on hormones legally, I'm soon to have surgery, I have a wonderful apartment, I don't have to worry about money and I'm insanely creative. Yet everything feels so hopeless. I don't know why I'm feeling this way, I have no right to, yet I do. What the fuck would it take to make me feel better?!
Have I been completely blinded by the darkness? Have I lost myself so to the point there is no coming back? Am I a hopeless case, unable to ever get better no matter how much help I get? Medicine just dulls the mind, it doesn't change who you are.
I've been writing nonstop, blog material, for five hours. I won't be able to post it all, it'll be way too much, and I'll just delete it or save it somewhere. I don't know how to stop writing. I'm somehow addicted to it. I have an addictive personality so to the point that I basically get addicted to everything I touch. Good thing I don't have access to drugs. So, I'm a nicotine junkie, been addicted to sex, porn, writing, drawing, alcohol, being a public disgrace, analysing everything/overthinking, food, sugar, video games, and of course my personal favourite: self destruction.
I'm a mess. Trying to fool everyone else and myself that I'm doing better. Oh yeah? Here's the ugly truth: I've been chain smoking since April, drinking six units of alcohol a day, everyday for two months to replace my cutting habit, don't even care about my constant day-night reversal, don't care if my weird eating disorder will kill me, won't even go the 2 km to ICA once a week cause I'm that lazy, only shower about once a week cause I don't care, and maybe I'm even looking for that psycho killer on Ebay?!
Fuck it. Fuck life, fuck living. I'm surviving, but it's not exactly a priority. It's just more comfortable than to either die or start living. I do none of those and just keep wasting away until my bad habits eventually kill me. Cause you know what? Whatever I'm gonna die from, however far in the future it will still be suicide. Lung cancer? Suicide. Freak accident? Suicide. Liver failure? Suicide. Old age? Not gonna happen. I might not try to hang myself or overdose again, but just living the way I do is a contemplated suicide.
I just freaked out completely on the crew. They called me about the morning medicines again. This is what I said: "Ja jag ska ta mina jävla piller. (They ask if I've slept). Nej. Ska det vara korsförhör varenda morgon eller? (They ask what I mean). Varje jävla morgon så korsförhör ni mig om jag sovit, om jag ätit och så vidare. Jag vill inte prata om det, jag vill inte prata med någon. Låt mig va" and then I hung up on them. What the fuck is wrong with me? Either my hormones are completely haywire, or my meds are completely haywire, or my mind is completely haywire for no other reason. I'm scaring myself. I'm disgusted by myself. I'm cruel to people that only cares about me and I'm shutting everyone out.
What have I become...?
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