I’m having trouble. I just had a Frapucino from Starbucks in one o fthose glass things. I try to ignore the rats.
Dad’s still abusive downstairs. His laughter in his sleep is abusive.
I try to ignore the rats.
I have nothing to do but write, I apologize. Just not to you. I don’t apologize to you. Because you’re a lowlife.
What am I doing.
Do I wish I could fall asleep? Or do I wish I had a good life?
The argument that you don’t need comfort drugs (kratom) every fifteen minutes just to get by is valid. If you have an average life there’s not really that much stress on you to necessitate doing hard drugs or soft drugs or whatever kratom is that much (I mean, at all). So yeah I’ll be happy without it. I wonder how long it will take to stop craving. I wonder how long I’ll be on suboxone.
I really have no rights anymore. I’m going to get super-powerful and fuck over all off you, because you’re lowliffes who have wronged me. You’re also slime.
What else is there.
There’s nowhere to go, tthat’s what else there is. So I can’t just end the blog post when the time is right.
I can’t just go to sleep because I have insomnia. But you forgot that, right. And now you (who don’t exist) I’m supposed to be nice to you. Which is insane and a loss of my rights and boundaries. I’m less than no one. So fuck you.
Which is why I’m going to get powerful and fuck you all over. BEcause you’ve wronged me.
I have insomnia so I can’t sleep.
The president is great but I’m angry at him.
No he’s a shithead. What am I kidding. Biden sucks dick.
I’m a democrat.
Trump is a monster.
Biden sucks dick.
I don’t like politics.
I like good health.
Kaiser Permanente is a shitty healthcare company. I mean they probably do some things well (yeah right) but they don’t have enough psych doctors. Next appt is like 4 weeks from now… why? I don’t get it. I need one like every week just to stay normal. For fuck’s sake. Oh, was I supposed to say something? Are you ASSUMING things like a HO again? That was my psychic therapist, harassing me again. He’s from kaiser Permanente.
Mom wouldn’t want ot know what I’ve written here. Despite the fact that it’s in no way connected to me. There’s no identifying information on it. Plus I use a vpn. Well not always but now at least. I don’t know if that mattress.
Where do negative sentiments come from?
How come I keep being interrupted mid-thought? This is the bad part. It’s destructive.
I don’t know what to do or where to go. That frappucino was a good comfort beverage. I could use more comfort right now. Bed is not a comfortable place. You’re screwed if that’s the case. That’s the case for me.
Tired of writing but I feel like I have to. Eh.