What people say and what they do is vastly different. It can be. I was reading some stuff on voter suppression and transgender hate, systematized, of course, and at face value the bills that discriminate don’t sound too threatening. It takes knowing to know. Or something like that. Maybe I’m just a superficial can’t-read. Har har. What have you.
It’s like that. Everyone I turn to for help, doesn’t help. The most help I’ve gotten so far is from my psychiatrist, who gave me Depakote. The only thing that works for my psychosis, that we have tried. Ev-ery-one in my family has not helped. They act cool and “give me information” but have they made me feel better? If anything they’ll guilt trip me into believing I’m fucking myself over by not doing it their way. They’ll make me, dying of a mental illness, feel worse. Wow.
So that’s why I’ve often said if you meet my family, be very very cautious around them. Be very cautious around the places I’ve lived in, and continue to live in. East Bay, California. United States. Be very cautious around the people who have called me a friend. I won’t name names but you’ll know when you meet them. The kind who take as much as they want and give a little in return, but just enough to finish their homework. Not to really get the job done. No one cares about that.
I am trying, as if there were some magical riddle, formula, or recipe, to get back to that state of mind I was in yesterday. I am burdened by anxiety once again. But it’s not anxiety. There’s just not a word for it. I figured it out. Psychiatry likes boxing things together, and what they think is my anxiety, is not yet, does not yet have a name. It may never. Do it mathematically, scientifically, you’ll see it’s different.
I have so much up hill self-defense digging out of holes to do, nonstop all day every day. And then there’s the mental illness.
People are not caring, kind. Society is not nice.