British thugs, I guess.
Hello, fellow window-in-the-neighborhood.
PS: Sign up for support group.
Note to self:
Move PCP, therapist, and “case manager” (whatever that means) to Walnut Creek.
Everybody hates me.
Everybody hates me when I’m in love.
I always have to be in a defensive position. I always have to anticipate their psychic violence, their assault of me, I have to anticipate their moves and their needles of psychic death, where they will move, using my experience, because I have suffered this long, I have been stabbed that much, and now I know, a little bit, very little, how to move, defensively, how to move, to avoid pain.
Whistle goes “woo-woo!”, amiright?
Oh me? No, I just sit around stabbing needles into my ass all day, thank you very much.
At least I’m–
Never fucking mind. Shouts from the party next door instantaneously proved me wrong.
I’m totally fucking disturbed, horrified, and damaged. There’s no reprieve. It’s over.
People always try to paint me as this malicious criminal when all I’m trying to do is get by. Jesus fucking Christ. Fucking humans. So disgusting. I loathe humanity for what it does to me.
I can’t just live anymore. Everyone needs to fucking screw me.
Fuck you fuck you fuck you and fuck you.
I should probably keep it up with my new therapist.
Then again, on the other hand, on second thought, he’s a bitch-ass cunt nigger so I don’t really think he could help me very much. He literally, I shit you not, recommended I try to meditate. Me. On two antipsychotics, with clinical grade akathisia, inability to sit still for more than a few seconds, inability to focus on anything for more than a few minutes, with thoughts so disturbing I would do anytyhing just to distract myself from them.
He doesn’t have a fucking clue.
Oakland. Totally royally boned place. If the medical establishment in Oakland is that shitty, then I understand why everyone there is so fucking unhealthy. It sucks.
Well, I guess there’s no plus.
I really need this SD card reformatted so I can reboot my Raspberry Pi so I can do Mathematica stuff on it. That sounds like the most fun thing to do tomorrow, besides tennis. I wonder if I will be too psychologically harassed (always tell it from your side!) at tennis tomorrow to even be able to play.
Risperdal doesn’t work for me. Aripiprazole does seem to. I don’t know. Both my psychiatrists at Oakland lied to me and fucked me, and legitimately, if I had the balls, I would sue them both. But I have a family, that doesn’t want me “in trouble” so like duh why would I exercise my legal rights. That constitutes getting in trouble.
Getting in trouble is being fucked by them in the first place.
They don’t get it either.