I’m getting to the point where I’m starting to question whether writing in here even helps anymore. I don’t know. I’m so uncertain about my every move. I have no self-confidence.

This morning my dad popped into my bedroom asked, as he previously forewarned me, if I could help him today move a table to his new office. I said no. He said What kind of friend am I. And marched off, upset.

The reasons I’m not helping: He’s risky type to be around; you never know when he’s going to snap and say something abusive, or just break down and start abusing his “friend”. He has many reasons to be punished–he always abuses mother, he litters the house, and he abused me as a child. It’s only natural not to want to do things with and for him. Although I feel terrible for not being a kind person. What he said made me feel guilty and like I’m not a kind person. Is it true? Or is he controlling me? He is a narcissistic personality type, that much has been assured. So it would be within the logic to think that he would pull this shit. He said he can only move the desk with two people. But he didn’t warn anyone when buying it in the first place. He just went ahead and assumed someone would help him out of the goodness of their heart. He doesn’t realize how unliked he is.

I don’t know where he is now. Probably headed over to his office. Where he doesn’t do any real work. Overpaying for rent in an area that’s too fancy for him. Where his lease will expire within a few years, I predict, because he won’t be able to afford it because he has not real business plan to make profit. He’s told me a little bit what his plan is. It didn’t sound good. Somthing about taking donatins and distributing them on their behalf. It sounds stupid and no one would trust him. Especially not people who know him. He knows nothing about philanthropy. And he’s certainly not putting in the research effort.

So all in all it’s a scheduled failure. But he’s so naive WHILE being narcissistic that he thinks he can’t possibly fail. The world revolves around him, remember?

In other news, last night was a motherfucking nightmare. I had people abusing me psychically, voices, and just all around misery until 3 AM. Not fun. I didn’t wake up mom because she usually makes things WORSE by bitching at me.

But I have to take my suboxone today again. We don’t know if it causes it or not. I don’t think it does. Mom goes with whatever hypothesis she thinks of first and just treats it as fact. Which is, again, totally bum fucking stupid. She has no logic whatsoever. Has she ever considered she might be… I don’t know… WRONG?!

But she’s not sequestering or hiding my meds or anything. I mean, she keeps them so I don’t get impulsive and overdose. Which is kind of stupid. I don’t know. It’s fearful and conservative. But I guess it makes her feel safe on my behalf.

That’s all. Dad making me feel very guilty and the psychosis last night.

And yeah, just, I don’t know what to do about my relationship with writing in here anymore. It feels so dead to me. There’s no joy in expressing myself anymore. It’s not even therapeutic. I’ve written so much. I’ve blogged so much. Granted, I’m not famous or successful. Just goes to show how fickle the social media market is. How the vagaries of the taste of the people are fickle and unpredictable.

But I guess I feel better, off the kratom, even after one day. Everyone says day 2 is the hardest. I hope not. We’ll see.

I’m really scared about where this is all going. Last night was not good. I don’t want this to be a recurring insomniac thing. Mom didn’t really address with a powerful systematic plan this morning what to do if last night repeats itself. I don’t know about going to the hospital. My doctors don’t even encourage me to do so. So like, how can the system help me? Or are people really out to get me?

Mostly there’s just no fun in my life. Everything is flat. And it feels dangerous. The threats feel real. I feel like I’m in danger. My mind could implode or shatter at any moment, and I would just be dead, or out of control, or something. I don’t know.

I swore at the audience a lot last night because I had to to vent. That’s my way of expressing my psychosis. No one understands. Well I mean I don’t know. Certainly no one comments. I bet no one reads. But I can’t know until someone proves it either way.

Nick wished me luck with the treatment last night at 11. He texted. Kind of late for a text, I guess too late for my liking. But he’s a late bird so I understand. I want to talk to him so much but he NEVER FUCKING RESPONDS so like what is his fucking problem? He says he’s just busy but can he not hear the urgency in my voice? Why is he holding out on me? Why is he so passive-agrressive with me? That’s a form of abuse, too. QED, he’s an abusive friend; or rather, I’m in an abusive relationship. Piece of shit.

Life’s not good. Things don’t look too good.

I don’t have a whole lot going for me except my medication. And the guidance of the doctors. Like, which is, kind of paltry, to be honest, but I guess just enough to get me through. I don’t know how science sees fit to get the job done.

God do I slouch at the laptop at my desk. I bought a monitor which should be here in a few days.

I mean I… no, I don’t want to help my dad with his desk. Not tomorrow, not ever. He’s a bitch. Let him figure it out. He should have thought of this when he bought it. Oh [my childhood name] will help me with this! No, man, you need to wake up. Really, badly.

First dose of suboxone sublingual now. Dissolving. No comment there. It’s just… dissolving. No high. The cravings don’t like hollywood-style magically dissipate in thin air. It’s not some gentle panacea. You just sort of forget you wanted the kratom in the first place the next time the cravings would have hit, is more how it works. For me, at least, or so it seems so far.

I’m so scared of psychosis. And I have to work on Monday. But I don’t have to go into lab on Mondays. So that is good. One more day to do the therapy. And a day to verify that I can just take my daily dose all straight in the morning at once like the original doctor said, which my mom questioned. My mom always questions the doctors. She’s such an idiot.

I kinda don’t want to end on a good note. I don’t know how to end. We’ll see how today goes. I already feel apprehensive, but relaxed more or less.

Things to get done today: shave beard, bathe then shower, do laundry, fill out weekly timecard, maybe a few other random errands.


Isn’t life miserable…

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