I've left my apt once in the last week and it was to go to work on Monday night.
There's a part of me that is thankful I have that as a reason to quite literally pick myself up from my bed and force myself to step outside my apartment.
I thought about going to Chinatown for food that reminds me of home.
I thought about going to see Deadpool2 and the new Incredibles movie.
I need to pick up my Rx of birth control at the pharmacy but the thought of stepping outside of me apt and walking a block is paralyzing.
I thought about going to a meeting. I also thought about going to church.
I fantasized about going to the driving range to hit a bucket of balls. Since I can't go shooting in the city, I wondered if my old pass times would help me release the rage I feel.
I considered going to get a new piecing or tat so that I could feel a bit of physical pain because I was curious if that would distract me.
When it comes down to it, I can barely get myself out of bed.
I can't pinpoint why I feel so sad, so unmotivated.
It would be naive to call it depression because I've never quite felt like this before.
I get flashes of random ways to off myself but those images are unsolicited.
Suicide seems too effortful. I have no desire to harm myself in the direct sense of trying to kill myself.
I'm angry and I want to cause pain.
I'm scared and I want to be held.
I'm stressed, tired and I just want to know how I can get passed this.
Every day, I tell myself I'm going to get myself out of the house today. I tell myself that, "Today is the day."
But come 7pm, I'm sleepy and next thing I know it's the crack of dawn and a new day has started.
Everyone seems like they want something from me but I've got nothing to give.
I can let them use me like the shell of a woman that I feel, but somehow I know it will leave me feeling even more empty.
I already know because that's what I let the dick do. I just let him use me, and that was all on me.
I tried to ask for a hug, and he held me until I let go. If I held on any longer, I might have bursted into tears and I've done that plenty of times in the past.
I tried to tell him he was hurting me but I want him to be satisfied.
I need to try harder to communicate my desires to him, instead of just letting him do his thing and hope he does something I like, which for the most part, I enjoy.
I want him to be happy because I'm trying my best to keep it together for him. Even if I'm pretending I'm ok, I think maybe I can "fake it till I make it".
He's the most interesting person I've ever met, and I'm afraid if he's not satisfied or happy with me, my ball of crazy just won't be worth his time.
He reminds me a lot of myself.
Strong yet broken. Fiercely independent almost to a stubborn and unnecessary extent.
Talented in countless ways with a sexual drive that gives mine a run for it's money.
I sense a familiar internal struggle within him like me, one where we are doing what we want for ourselves, vs conforming to outside influences of family/society.
Aware of our darkness and imperfections, we also strive to put good back into the world.
He liked my drive and I'm afraid my lack of motivation is incredibly unattractive.
I drank on Monday, unfortunately that's just what happens when an alcoholic works in a bar. I know alcohol is a depressant so I've been trying my best to lay off of it.
In the past two weeks I've smoked a handful of times, in an attempt to taper off instead of cold turkey. Roughly half a gram, which is considerably modest in my opinion. I want to give it a break because I know amotivational syndrome is real.
I may not be able to leave my apt, but perhaps I've put myself under some type of house arrest to detox?
There's just so much to it.
I'm afraid of people because I feel insecure.
I'm afraid people want more than I am willing or capable of giving.
I feel empty.
I see my words and I know they are all signs that point to certain labels or diagnoses.
This is my way of trying to stabilize myself.
Admit my shortcomings so I can try harder to be better because today is a new day.
I share because I don't think I'm alone.
I share in case someone else feels my pain and they know they are not alone.
I share to make my "quiet desperation" not so quiet because I deeply understand when Thoreau said, "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation".