Removed a few parasites from my reading list.
The psychological pain. The brain pain. Why.
Mom makes me feel so depressed. She just makes me feel bad. She highlights all my failings and wants to do things I can’t do and complains about it all the time. She is not a reasonable person, has no empathy, and just shits on everything. So, I’m not going to care about her, she can fuck herself with her “ambition” yeah right like she can do anything by herself, codependent parasite that she is, and she just keeps on shitting on me. Fuck her.
My mental barriers are kind of slowly being put back in place.
I switched to 120 mg from 100 mg latuda. Hopefully that helps a little. I need to read up on if it helps with mood disorders. My mood has been intensely fucked lately. Really, shitting on me.
Looking up some MTG card searches on the broken scryfall search engine for MTG cards to try to make a UBG aggro deck. Not kill in four turns, but like, have some fun with the tempo and maybe win in six. I don’t know. I don’t care about winning fast. I just care about winning. The more descriptors you tag onto it, the less it’s about winning. Just make it about winning, pure and simple.
Finally had breakfast, meaning I can finally take my meds. 1 PM. Fuck. This is supposed to happen in the morning, by the way.
My mother is such a pathetic person. I can not emphasize enough. Wow. I feel sorry for her, then she sucks you in and guts you. Fucking parasite. Bastard.
Otherwise, I guess not much going on. I mean that’s a lot, right. And if I had a job, what the fuck, I would function? Would I?
I hate doing things. And jobs are about doing things. The human economy is about raping resources in the name of expansion forever. So fuck, I am politely excluding myself in the name of asceticism, which clearly has no role in the human economy. Not all philosophies make money, as the CEOs must know, since they have so much free time and money to do nothing other than study philosophy. Fuckers. Useless parasitic trash.
EDD finally is processing, I mean Kaiser finally finished with, my disability application. So I might receive a retroactive paycheck of a few thousand dollars soon. I deserve it. I have PTSD fuck you for going through how many psychotic episodes now? For no reason. So fuck. Fuck you. I have the right to say fuck you.
Now that I think about it, I do sound like a vet been through war zones with PTSD don’t I.
It was all imagined. Completely. But just as bad.
Yeah. Sad, right? That is wasn’t even real.
I feel something progressing. We’re making progress. We’re getting somewhere. I feel myself improving, recovering. I’m still not productive, I’m not sticking to my calendar, I don’t eat 3 meals a day, I don’t exercise, I don’t even go for a walk every day, less even so the last week I think. So fuck. All metrics point to stasis. But we’re improving. I can feel it.
And I think, I think my mom knows. Deep down inside. And I think she is happy beyond measure.
She painted some I forget the Japanese name for it, with like Japanese ink painting. Bamboo. Yeah. Cliche, right? It’s beautiful, partly because it’s from her. I always, I’ve been waiting decades for her to retire and just paint and take photographs of the garden and travel with family and read and…
I’m almost going to cry. It’s so unfair. We go through so much, and it means nothing.
Okay now I’m crying.
Human society is so, so cruel and destructive. Even to our own kind. End the military. It’s the wrong philosophy. It’s just wrong. End it. No more unreasonable sacrifice, no more stretching yourself beyond your limits for the “greater good” (reeks of totalitarianism, fucking shit, anyone can see that).
Fuck. I hate it. I’m so smart and so powerless, and you know what that feels like?
It feels horrible, when you know so much and can do so little.
Eh I’m repeating myself.
Bit of a break there. Yeah I mean I went afk from this post for about half an hour.
I was in the living room hanging out with mom, feeling my sensitivity and damage return.
Maybe I’m not BRAIN damaged, but I am damaged. And I can feel it. It’s real. It hurts. It’s real pain. Sensitivity. To. Whatever. Fear. Emotions.
Wow. I never thought I’d be this kind of person.
But I guess looking back, it does make sense that that was a risk, given my personality type of very passionate and spiritual. Although, I was also very logical and methodical and hard-working.
I wonder where THOSE traits went. Will they return? Or am I permanently changed? Personality-wise.
The formalities. Suck.
Nothing I do is right.
I don’t know what to say anymore. It’s like, I HAVE to feel the pain. I’m trying to avoid it. But my brain just slates me for more. I don’t know why. Why do I have to feel pain? It’s not fair. Like I’m in a wizard’s dungeon being tortured. It’s not fair.
I want to play MTG with brother The Middle. We should set something up.
I mean, I’m just watching a Starcraft 2 tournament. It feels like the slimiest, lowest thing to do. It’s not work. It’s entertainment. But it feels so low. Why does it feel so low?
My brain just keeps telling me I’m making the wrong decisions. How did I get so beaten? I wasn’t abused recently. But it feels like I was. What gives?
I wish my therapist could read all this. Medical professionals just don’t have the time to do a quality job.
I don’t know. I want to be great. I want to be powerful. I can live with the wounds. I can live with the insecurity. But I want to flourish, and I want not to be stopped from flourishing.
Just. When can we stop with all these grand ideas? These sweeping gestures. I mean, you’re right. I… uh, forgot your name. Someone directly is talking to me. How does that work? How do I pick up these messages? Ahhh pain. Fuck.
But I mean you’re right. When is it time for just, like, chips, and Starcraft. You know? It can’t be massive all the time.
I have to go for a hike with mom at 3. It’s about 2 now.
I’m not ready. I really don’t want to. But mechanically, I will go through the motions. I just hope I’m not really irritated during the walk. Those are the worst. Hikes while irritated by the walking. Ugh. Why so much pain.
Some people have fybromyalgia. Some people have multiple sclerosis. Fuck. There’s no, like, I mean, it’s just random, right? There’s nothing you can do. You just get it.
Life is such a risk. Living, not even dangerously, but normally, is so dangerous. I guess you’re not supposed to be aware of it most of the time. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the odds are minuscule. But if we’re weighting the function, the damage is huge. And therefore I think the weighted odds are still dangerous.
This O’Connor anthology in front of me. I started the first book. Then I stopped.
I want someone to talk to. I want someone to magically heal me. People are so underwhelming. When do I find the right ones.
Nick and CJ didn’t respond to my email. They’re “busy” (read: Fuck you Varjak we don’t give a shit about you *shits on my face*).
Yeah. That’s more or less it.
Here’s the formula: My mom complains about something she wants to do but can’t because no one will do it with her. I feel bad to the paint of psychological pain.
Rinse lather repeat.
Why do I have to feel IN PAIN not just bad but in fucking pain just because my mom’s greedy whiny about activities.
What. The. Fuck.
And whose fault is that, anyway?
No one’s. I mean yeah.
But fuck it’s stupid.
I want to feel normal. I want to be at peace. I’m practicing mindfulness as much as possible. Taking extra time to just observe my surroundings, not do anything but feel the moment. Exist. As mindfulness teaches, after all.
We’ve got half an hour to go before we go to the park for a hike. Fuck.
I love you.
But. You don’t do anything for me.
And for that you are punished. ;-)