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Monday, December 7th, 2009
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8:54 pm
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i love my ambien prescription. with it, i have these intensely vivid dreams. more tactile than lucid. the kind that normally scare the hell out of me with all the wrought emotional outpouring given that i can experience them without fear that i haven't repressed them enough. recently however, they are the safest place for me to be. and every afternoon when i've awoken to the sounds of creaking wood and the smell of concrete, i feel cheated.
i don't even remember them once i'm fully awake. just their weight, like a tome of apocrypha in a language i can't understand. i want to go back. i don't understand why it's so difficult--i mean, i'm not wanted here, i'm not needed. and it's not like i care about this aspect of consciousness, with it's tenet of maintaining an inexplicable sense of authority. but however "real" this is asserted, it's just a trick, a manipulative tactic of those desperate to own and control me, willingly giving in to feelings that they cannot own and control, because they lack the courage to question and proof them.
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| Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009
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8:18 pm
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right now, the only constant in my life is the abusive relationship i have with my family. i have no friends, no elisabeth, no money. and no internet that i can use to like yanno, fix my wreck of a life. i may be homeless in a week, but i found a tent in my house that i can take.
there are positives mind you, but they are fleeting. i need some mercy here. but i know that it would come at the cost of self-control.
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| Wednesday, November 25th, 2009
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3:25 pm
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yeah, i think i'm just gonna go back to ruining it for the rest of you people.
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| Monday, November 2nd, 2009
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8:40 pm
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so my parents'--really only my mother's house at this point, to be fair--is filled...FILLED with all sorts of knick knacks and junk and food/craft supplies.
some of it is actually quite usuable (there are three vacuum cleaners, two televisions...), or of some value. even the stuff sitting outside in a pile waiting for my dad to further sprain his back by loading it in the giant pick-up and driving it out to the landfill in dundalk.
being smart and maybe a little bit too ahead of the curve, i listed some of the stuff on craigslist. i figured somebody gets some free shit that we certainly don't need, and my family doesn't have to spend money simply just to throw it out.
mother caught me cleaning up some of the stuff, specifically a 75 dollar animal cage that's been sitting out there for about 3-4 years and asked "what the hell are you doing?" I of course not trying to repeat a bad habit, told the truth. I then received a fairly emotionally abusive lecture on how I don't care about other people's property and that I'm wholly selfish. That I am possessed with a sense of extreme entitlement and that I think that i'm allowed to help myself to anything i want, without any concern for the consequences.
maybe that's true. however considering all of my current possessions barely fill a laundry basket, whereas my mother has claimed the entirety of the house space as as hers, leaving my father's things to weather outside underneath the back porch and leaving him only a worn couch to sleep on; i am not inclined to really agree.
to be honest. i just don't fucking care about ownership, period. or stuff. it's just stuff, and i have spent my whole life on the receiving end of people so childishly concerned with protecting and controlling their possessions, that in order to coddle their fears i've had to maintain a lifestyle substandard to their own. obviously, this does not really encourage or allow understanding of why i should ever respect ownership. i'm certainly not about to change now.
yeah, i don't really care about your shit, but i don't really care about mine either. it's all ours--it's not like we can take it with us when we die. that seems ever more a possibility, either as a consequence of not having access to material resources or the process of accessing them.
i really shouldn't have let my bike go. and i really don't want to get back into the habit of rolling out to privileged neighborhoods and committing burglaries like i did when i was 16--17. i mean, back then, i knew since i was white and dressed a little nicer than most people i'd never get caught. but i'm certainly not that clever or prone to feed on the ignorance of others. especially not after this summer.
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| Sunday, November 1st, 2009
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2:15 pm - turn around...bright eyes...
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| Wednesday, October 28th, 2009
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3:53 am
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| Friday, October 23rd, 2009
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10:09 pm
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lj, there is so much i have to write about, but i'm afraid to. doesn't help that i found my father's one-hitter and smoked the weed donated by some silly actors in philly. i'm comfortably paranoid.
but out of all the pressing questions, the most salient one is this; while it may be inappropriate in many aspects to want to be intimately involved with someone else out of a dissatisfaction with yourself, especially it's compounded with sense of alienation. what if the root cause of that alienation, that loneliness and loathing is that you're trapped in a pathologically bound narcissistic cycle?
simply put, i've learned to see that's not good to want to be with someone if it's driven mostly out of loneliness. but i am alone, and it's because of my narcissistic and self-serving behavior.
i know right? boo-fuckin' hoo. but it is painful and melancholic, so i love myself a little more, and somehow seem to completely overdo it.
elisabeth makes me feel securely happy; she cares for me in a way that i desperately need. but she does in such a way and to an extant that i'm not stricken with fearful codependance. i don't want to possess or keep her. i want her to be free, to be exactly as she is, and to support her wholly in her attempts to flourish in this life.
this might actually be a relationship that "works out," and i'm so anxious because i'm so skeptical as to how.
it's still refreshing to have an opportunity to not think about me for once. if i'm poor at actualizing it.
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| Friday, October 16th, 2009
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7:21 pm
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"i don't know whether it's agape, philia, eros, or storge, but i know that i love you."
this woman makes my emotional issues seem childishly simple. i simply don't know if i love her for what she does for me, or for who she is. i--we're making sure. i mean, i know that with her i feel a sense of companionship that i've always wanted in my life. and it's all here, and it's just...natural.
it's a little weird, and wholesome. like those exotically ornamented underwater slugs that are hermaphroditic and fertilize each others eggs when they mate, head to tail to head to tail.
(edit: wow, we just spent an amazing 2 hours napping and chatting on the green room couch waiting for the performance to finish and um...this is wonderful. not in the sense of being worth the consequences; there's just challenges we haven't encountered yet.)
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| Wednesday, October 14th, 2009
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4:54 pm
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so, according to my mother, being responsible does not entail acknowledging your shortcomings and mistakes, and then moving on from to yanno--keep trying for something, but rather, "feeling the hurt," whatever the hell that means. i mean i guess i should go back to emulating her and being a shrill thunderstorm of lashing tongues and unconscious neuroses one moment, and a weepy mess the next. not that i had much luck at being my usually emotionally and materially withdrawn self the last time i was here.
i do like the medicated me, albeit some moments i can literally feel how much my brain is starved of neurotransmitters.
in other news, i'm attending a grand opening at centerstage with a lovely woman whom i don't know all that well. i am incredibly nervous about all of this. because well, i'm kind of a loser. and she's not--and until otherwise proven, i'm convinced she's only so into me because she's depressed. and lonely. this is usually why people are interested in me romantically--or just tolerating of my ignorant, warped attempts at fostering a relationship.
but she's been far better to me than most of the people common sense would suggest should. so i owe her alot, even if it means i fail miserably at it.
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| Tuesday, October 6th, 2009
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5:38 pm
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actually, i don't really need to leave baltimore. i just need to get the hell away from my mother.
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| Monday, October 5th, 2009
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5:41 pm
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so i refiled for unemployment. we'll see how that goes. i claimed that i have a disability, and considering the behaviors and deeply ingrained personality flaws that typically get me dismissed or looked over for employment (or most things, when you get down to it) are what have me going through periods of offing myself any chance i get. i think it's a fair claim to make.
it also means i'll have to find a regular therapist, even if it means i can't pay for one. any suggestions?
my life has not been this boring. i just don't think i can handle the possibility of someone merely thinking otherwise. plus most of it technically only exists within my imagination.
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| Tuesday, September 29th, 2009
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12:38 pm
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all things considered (gah why do i say things like that!) sitting outside of a century old train station, downloading the latest episode of house and listening to some dirty looking college student playing what appears to be a dulcimer, is pretty enjoyable.
it'd be more enjoyable if i had a few cheeseburgers and some tea, all fortified with HFCS, but i'm doing just fine with a pepsi and a bag of "steak" flavored potato crisps.
i'm doing just fine.
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| Sunday, September 27th, 2009
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6:35 pm
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the downside to taking zoloft in the morning and ambien in the evening is that i'm either not motivated enough to write in an entertaining fashion or too asleep to remember it in the morning.
i've got a 4 day/3 night train ride ahead of me. it's a nonsmoking train. that'll probably do the trick. friday, october the second, 3:44 pm, i'll be arriving at penn station. after that, i'm headed to holy frijoles for a steak and black bean chimichanga.
while the doctors in the psych wing stressed that they were merely an "acute crisis unit;" after a 2 hour long interview, one of the psychiatrists suggested the strong possibility that i may have schizotypal personality disorder. i just read the wikipedia article about it, and while i'm stressing to myself "it's just wikipedia, and i'm not a psychiatrist," i'm still currently coping with a sense of both clarity and dread.
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| Saturday, September 12th, 2009
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5:03 pm
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overdosing on diphenhydramine leads to a prolonged state of intense delirium and loss of cognitive function, progressing then into cardiac, renal and intestinal failure. when i attempted suicide about a week ago, i was well aware of all of this.
what i was not prepared for is that fact that aside from those moments when the surgeons put me under--like when they went through all twenty feet of my GI, making sure the chemicals i had spurned my liver into creating weren't burning holes inside me--that'd i feel every bit of it.
that i'd spend the next few days learning how to handle opaque foods again, having my progress checked and measured by the CCs of stool and urine my body was slowly learning how to produce again.
today, i no longer have a catheter, and i'm confident enough to no longer need to sleep with a diaper on. i still have to hustle when the urges strike, else the urges kinda double back. like i get too swollen to go.
with the aid of a walker, i can make around the tenth floor of the hospital at a pretty good pace. i'm looking to be evaluated on monday by the resident psych, and probably transferred in an inpatient institution for a few weeks. and then, i don't know. i really don't know anything that i can count on as "solid" or real, except for the excruciating pain i selfishly put myself through, and the unselfish support and compassion i'm being shown here at this hospital--despite arriving with not a single cent to my name. you can call me a burden of the state, or yet another reason for genuine health-care reform. but i am so glad to be alive, even if it means i'm starting from nothing.
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| Friday, September 4th, 2009
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3:07 pm
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I am a lot of things, but I'm not angry anymore. Truthfully, I don't know what it is or was that I have ever felt. My emotions have always been a liability, whether they alienate me from whatever cobbled together sense of purpose or group of individuals I've aligned with, or made me vulnerable to those who are blinded by assertions of their own self-interest--whatever they believe they deserve. So I ignore and suppress them, and project whatever intent or emotional state previously ordained by those who are more willful in their assumptions of me than I could ever expect or imagine in myself. I do it to keep the peace.
But wanting that, that meager request has become so much trouble. It's amusing though, how in finding myself surrounded by people who keep asking me what I want, what my intentions are, I've given up thinking like that along time ago, just to get by, to get away from the consequences born out of the self-interest of others. If I ever dared say what I want at the time, it is only seen as a challenge, or a threat.
I just don't worry about it. Because it only means that I'd just pass it down, and propagate the same undeserving situation on people worse than I. I continue to hold it in.
I really did think I could change things. Even it meant giving up on myself, and my inner reality. So I began to act like the people who hurt me: guided primarily by self-interest--not by the consequences or the reality of my situation. And I left the place that had engendered and trapped me behind.
The past few months I saw and felt much. But none of it would stick, none of it would grow beyond the superficial. And I never fully enjoyed it. It never felt like I could have, I was too busy worrying about the next day. And the next set of strangers to sweet-talk.
It became pretty boring. That was the frightening part. I mean, I felt like I could get away with anything--only if I didn't enjoy it, and if I focused wholly on what was offered, what was not already explicitly claimed. And in a moment of indulgence and weakness, I tearfully struggled to stop it, to get to the end. Which like everything else I've genuinely wanted, required me to give up what I've had--again.
I wish you could see from my perspective, how simply incestuous, and self-defeating this little trip has become. I mean I feel like I'm making some sort of sacrifice, some sort of offering. But I am merely what I have available--which is nothing. I mean, the bike I rode--that I left behind in Denver, was a gift. The money--which got me to Chicago--was stolen. Everything else has been begged for, pleaded, and pushed out of people by whatever approximation of a peer-appropriate self I stand up and shake around. Some of them were good people, and I had no right to hope for anything from them (which is the same freedom I'd hope to spread, but I'm done with that folly.) I'm sure they'll be alright. Everything I've seen thus far has proven that.
So what did I accomplish? I don't know. Making those decisions turns my emotional outlook into actual reality. I'm giving you that capacity to pass judgment on me. And through your eyes, I am nothing, and by the standards of consensual reality, that's precisely what I am. And I'm not going to try and subversively combat it anymore. Through my own eyes, I have traveled away from one cold, superficial and materialistic trap to another, it never improves. In my capacity for judgment, I don't see anything worth sticking around for. I never have. And I don't see this as suicide, I see this as letting go of the aspects of myself that are simply burdensome and self-destructive.
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