This blog often contains uncomfortable subject matter and occasional sexual content. If you don't want to read about it, empower yourself to close the page. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mom This morning, I woke up after dreaming that my mom had died. Two entries back, I mentioned that "maybe" losing my mom would be as bad as losing BK. This dream was horrible. I just cried the whole dream. Okay, losing my mom would be worse. I'm sorry I even said that last night, mom. I love you. I wanted to call you after I woke up from that dream, but I couldn't do it. And I'm sorry for that, too. 3:26 p.m. - 2014-02-01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- An episode I'm having another episode where I'm too stoned (oh, also, I've been drinking a really weak white russian so I'm half twisted), and I think I've been talking to myself, but I'm so unaware of my own actions I can't remember if I spoke my internal monologue out loud, or just played it out in my head. And if I did say it all out loud, it was basically some spiel about how oh no, I haven't been crying, I'm just too high to function. No, I don't like being this high, I just do this because without it I'm suicidal! Oh but don't worry, I'm not going to do anything, I know this is just temporary. AP AND EH ARE IN THE NEXT ROOM OVER RIGHT NOW. WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN ENTERTAINING THE IDEA OF TALKING TO MYSELF? I wonder if this is some insane subconscious (unconscious? I don't know) cry for help. If I was talking, I don't know if I was speaking out loud, or whispering. Shit. I'm still not even sure if I was talking. I've shut myself in my room with music playing, so hopefully I can snap myself out of this, or at least ride out the anxiety in a safe space. I hate being like this. I hate being so far off in my own little fantasy world that I'm not even conscious of my own actions. It scares me that I might be doing these things around people, so completely unaware of myself that I don't realize I'm doing it. On the flip side, I hate that I don't trust my own judgment enough to know that my own experience of reality is true. Someone could probably accuse me of doing something I haven't done, and if they argued confidently enough, they could probably confuse me into believing that I did what I'm accused of, and forgot it. It makes me insane. I feel like I'm losing my mind when I get like this. And now comes the paranoid aftermath, where I'm sure they've heard, and now every little snippet of conversation that I overhear sounds like it could be about me. I turn my music down until I'm satisfied that she's not talking about how crazy I was just being, she's just prattling on about burritos or E.R. reruns, or pretending not to flirt with EH, as usual. Ugh, I just want her to leave. This whole night would be a lot less stressful if she weren't here. 11:32 p.m. - 2014-01-31 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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