Well, I guess this is book two. I'm going to cut the introductory bullshit and just get into it because I'm exhausted and in a bad mood. Technically, I could have kept writing in the original Dumb Ass Shit, but I'm at around the 197 chapter mark so I wouldn't have much space left, and it feels wrong do continue it anyways. I feel like a completely different person than I was when I wrote that book and I need a fresh start for a different me.
It all sounds very cringe, but I really miss high school sometimes. Actually, that's not true at all. What I really miss is going around and feeling young, having a blast with my friends doing wild shit that didn't mean or do anything except for be fun. I miss going to parties and getting blacked out, I miss breaking into Kai's house to get Fight Club, I miss walking around high school football games, I miss hanging out in the rain, I miss the cold, I just miss a lot. I even miss things that never happened. I missed so much of my youth, and now I miss what little I even had.
The other day Nana, Grandpa, and I drove the golf cart out into the course at night to watch a space shuttle launch and the sprinklers were on so we got wet. I sat on the back of the golf cart, so I was watching everything from behind, and it reminded me of when I was little and would turn around in the backseat to watch everything out the back window as we drove. It sent me into a daydream where I picked up my friends (who don't actually exist, so I guess it's more accurate to say I picked up my made-up friends) on the golf cart and we booked it to a party. It was cold and fun and we were being crazy. I just sat and imagined us riding around the neighborhood and me taking a girl out to the middle of the golf course and making out under the night sky. I know, it's cliche and dumb. But I have been so fucking strict about covid ALL year, and I'm hitting my breaking point.
I think a lot of people hit this point a couple months ago. But I've been VERY patient with my acceptance of what I need to do as my duty being a person in a fucking society with other people, and I'm at the end of my rope. I'm finally hitting the point where I'm just so sick of living like this. Yes, I'm still following rules and regulations as strongly as ever and that's not going to change. What's changing is my attitude towards doing so. I'm so fucking tired of this bullshit and the governments abysmal ass fucking response--THEY are the ones who are responsible. And I'm also really fucking sick and tired of all the stupid ass good for nothing morons who refuse to do their part for other people. I swear, it's like the utter idiocy of these shitheads is more contagious than anything.
I'm also hurting a lot from the way my family has treated me lately. How so entirely thrilling to add daddy issues to my already kneecapping mommy issues. Most of all what hurts, I think, is the way that my family always expects me to take it. To accept what I in no fucking world deserve. To reach out to my dad and "make things right". Go fuck yourself. He's a piece of shit and so are you if you think that's on ME in any way, shape, or fucking form. And fuck my mom to hell and back. How stupid and rude do you have to be to say the shit she says to me? And for my grandma to say "oh it's just her mental illness." YEAH, NO SHIT. THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT RIGHT. It's even more frustrating for me because I know for a god damn fact I have many more, and much worse, mental illnesses than her that make living excruciating, and I still don't treat people like that. Why? Because I'm not a bad person.
I've been realizing lately that my mental illness is worse than I ever previously thought. I mean for gods sake I've been in withdrawal of all things and didn't even notice until Grace told me. I have a weird relationship with appraising my mental illnesses. On the one hand, I have the tendency to minimize them and feel like they aren't even that bad because I'm still, well, alive, I guess. However, last night I realized that I am a fucking shitshow mess. I don't sleep, I don't eat, I can barely breathe, my mind is always on fire, I have incessant intrusive thoughts, virulent mood swings, I'm self-destructive, ET CETERA, and most of all--I function horribly. I figured that because I'm still getting done what I need to get done (usually), I'm fine. I get my assignments done. Eventually I fall asleep. I wake up. I make it through the day. Whatever. But my level of basic functioning is so piss poor that I haven't even been able to realize it's abnormal. Just the way it is. But this shouldn't be how it is. I shouldn't have to struggle so much. I shouldn't have to constantly be in pain. I see no out. Maybe it's just the fucking withdrawal talking.
I have therapy tomorrow. Hopefully Blair will help. I was embarrassed last session when I was still robotripping from accidentally inhaling rubbing alcohol after taking nyquil. Why the fuck did my grandpa think pure rubbing alcohol was soap? That was a horrible experience. I hope my psychiatrist gets his shit together yesterday so I can get back on lamotrigine and find a new ass guy. He and his receptionist are god damn garbage.
Ok I'm tired of typing and ranting and whatever fucking else now. Just venting I guess. By the way, if you're still reading this and annoyed at how negative I'm being or whatever....... oookay? Don't read then. It's not like I write these books for anyone except for myself. If you're still reading and manage to make it through my attitude, though, thanks. I'm sure future chapters won't be as terrible as this. I just needed to get it out there because I feel so mad, so sad, so alone.
