Sunday, October 23, 2011

Sometimes, I can't believe my life. Seriously, I want to track down my dumb-ass guardian angel and strangle that fucker.

What am I supposed to want? What can I want that isn't self-destructive? I've discarded most of my wants, dreams, goals etc. because they made me hate myself for not being able to achieve anything of note. I have boiled away all the excess until I have become a rather simple creature. I get one cup of coffee in the morning (and it must be the PERFECT cup of coffee or else there will be suffering), and if I go too long without new books to read, I get a little crazy. The rest of my day has no routine whatsoever. I mean I forget to shower half the time, and my gums are starting to swell up irritatingly because I don't floss. I try not to dwell on things overly much, but I have horrific nightmares every night. I am very carefully not self-critical, but every now and again I look at the nearly thirty, fat slob I have become and want to explode from self disgust. Never mind that it isn't my fault that my medications make it hard to lose weight, or that I can't exercise because I'm house-bound, or that anxiety makes impulse control a wistful dream. I have hell, in the form of thousands of unwanted memories, locked up in my brain and bound round with chains and padlocks, just waiting to break free.

I don't feel sorry for myself really. I'm just a walking time-bomb of pent up rage and fear, ready to go off at any given time. The trick is to convince yourself that you aren't crazy, that this is what you WANTED your life to be. Right. Still working on that. I've done really well, not going on off on anybody in awhile. I haven't called anyone a fucking idiot to their face since I got out of the army. Amazing how quickly I got control of that particular impulse once I was away from base. Sometimes I wish the VA would just get it over with and medicate me to the point of catatonia. It would be so much easier if I wasn't able to think. Or remember. I want to put my fist through my monitor right now. Even when I'm busy pretending the world doesn't exist, and that I have no past or future, I grind my teeth from stress. My jaw fucking hurts. I don't like having physical pain be a constant reminder of the chronic psychological distress I am under.

I want to buy some land, 20 acres or so of undeveloped property, except for the house. A house with a tall wall around it to discourage Avon ladies and other nuisances. Possibly with turrets. I want peace and quiet. I could walk around outside without having to worry about running into someone. It is revolting to me how terrified I am of other people. The fact that I feel like I need 20 acres of land a huge wall in front of it to feel safe from other people is distressing. I live in the suburbs, and it is stifling. Its a step up from the madness of living in downtown Seattle, but it is still stifling. I feel like I'm being judge when I walk to the end of my driveway to check the mail in my pajamas, not that that stops me from wearing my pajamas. Naturally I scorn any action on my part which may be in reaction to what I think other people are thinking about me. If that made any sense. That's why I stopped writing in my blog. People were reading it, oh my God. Then of course when I realized I stopped writing in it, because I felt like I was being judged, here I am writing in it again. Sometimes I am such a hard ass.

So I'm turning 29 this year. Haven't finished my education. Not married. Not on speaking terms with a big chunk of my family. 60lbs over-weight. Smoking too many cigarettes every day. Christ it makes me tired. What am I supposed to do? I wanted to change the world, now I can't even change myself. Sometimes I feel like my life ended in Iraq. I know perfectly well that I have a lot to be grateful for, but if I had died in Iraq, like I sometimes wish I had, there would have been a tolerable amount of satisfaction in it. Death is senseless most of the time, but dying in war makes sense. Living the life I am, doesn't make sense. A fact which pisses me off daily. Two fucking years in therapy, and I still can't work, hell I still can't go to a fucking movie theater. Now I'm feeling sorry for myself.