Is it boredom? I don’t know.

I took ANOTHER nap. Because I was depressed and my muscles were uncomfortably stiff and I was panicking, again.

Now I’m awake, doing laundry. I’ll have to toss my clothes in the dryer and then just let them sit in a laundry basket for tomorrow, don’t mind not putting them away. I just need a pair of pants and a, what’s it called, collared shirt, each day. Short-sleeved. I forget what those are called.

I felt pretty good after I woke up, but, as always, it starts to tank. Not having anything to do really fucks with my head, and I don’t know why. Why can’t I just be satisfied with nothing?

Sent an email to Nick -_- which I feel like a failure about. Why can’t I survive on my own? I even put a note in there to him like, well I probably shouldn’t be writing you etc. etc. Iunno.

I just need to not get pushed by the force in my brain. I should exercise my free will more. I think I’ll be happier then.

Like right now, the conclusion of the post seemed to come too quickly, and my brain was telling me to leave, just be done. But I wasn’t ready. So I kept going (into this sentence), though not much, a lot.

I think I need to do this a lot. And I need to refuse the depression. But I guess every trick you could try shouldn’t work, if it’s molecular. Iunno.

I’ll keep trying my psychological tricks to fight the depression. We’ll see if me getting of kratom helps or not. I want to get tomorrow and Thursday over with. Labwork. And then I don’t know what on Friday. Today is a really light week.

Hmm.

I keep going for the Nauzenes. The acid indigestion stuff. Stomach ache pills, basically. Hmm. And I had something else to say. Oh yeah: I think my decision-making has really gone to the shitter. I panic over small things, and end up in inaction all too often. Better not to care and do the usual and get more done. Don’t care too much, it doesn’t help. Just caring doesn’t help. You have to act upon it. But me, I’m crazy, so I believe, against my will, in things like telepathy etc. Better not to care… like I used to…

I was a cool kid. I was cold. Kinda cold. Cool. Really. Cool. Got my shit done, and lived life. Also kind of vanilla. But you know, doing what I wanted to do.

I don’t know what happened. I feel as though I’ve lost control of my life. I should talk to someone about this. I don’t really know. Maybe next therapy appointment. Hmm.

It’s hard to craft a good ending these days. I guess I’ll just leave it at this. I don’t know why having a bad ending kills me so. Am I a perfectionist? I think I am. I literally feel this force in my brain of like, pain and revulsion, when the ending is poor/bad. According to my own standards, at that, and what do those mean? To a blog post? That’s silly. I don’t make any money off this thing. Even then, why get wracked up about it? I’m just an idiot. I don’t know.

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