My psychosis is almost a twisted form of entertainmet. It keeps me busy defending myself.

I’ll be increasing my meds dosage tomorrow with my psychiatrist’s approval.

Well anyway what I mean is, I don’t have much to do right now and it’s bedtime but not sleepy. Already did so much. Always more, not sure why I set artificial stop barriers conditions but I guess I don’t know, should I keep going? I don’t want to exhaust myself is my logic but does it hold? Would it be healthier to overwork to exhaustion and then sleep more deeply? Instead of not overworking, getting to sleep early, or trying to and failing?

I don’t know. These decisions.

Today I survived despite the psychosis. It’s so scary sometimes. Wow is it.

Mmmm…

I didn’t come here to talk about the day though.

I forgot what I came here to talk about.

Ugh.

lame.

Everything is such hard work. I need to go easier on myself. It’s just, people were yelling at me for a while. Aleins. Whatever. I can do the hard work. It’s not a big deal. Yes, we get a better result. No, it doesn’t matter. Or whatever. Who cares.

Hmm.

I need to do something. Like I wrote a bunch of poems alreayd. I’m on book 3. So.

Mom needs to read book 2 for me.

I applied to a poetry reading position for a lit mag today. Fingers crossed.

What else…

Yeah I love poetry. God do I love poetry.

Data analysis and science in general are also just really cool.

I feel like my coworkers is an asshole. He uses stress as an excuse to be a dick. Iunno. Am I delusional? Is he acting like a dick in the first place? It’s confusing.

He has two autistic kids. Sigh.

Life’s fucked up.

My dad and I have schizotypal mental illnesses.

Life.

Yeah.

Nick didn’t respond to my battery of texts today. Which I don’t mind for once because I was more or less independent today.

Already mentioned the meds. That should help.

Doing well on suboxone and off kratom. Thank god. So much more better energy and mood. Just the psychosis is all. It’s a fucking terrorist nightmare. Holy hell is it horrifying. I can’t begin to describe it. Anyone else with a mental illness or an abusive parent or anything up that alley understands. =(

Life.

Death. More like…

I guess I should figure out how to go to sleep. Or just make a coffee to comfort myself?

Eh.

We’ll see…

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