Friday, July 20, 2012

Despair and the art of prevarication

I am not suicidal. The trouble is that I live in so much emotional turmoil so much of the time, that I can't truly say I care if I live or die. I would never kill myself. Not my style. A girl can wish though. I'd sleep most of the time if it weren't for the nightmares.

I'm just so fucking tired of it all. I'm tired of the panic attacks and the agoraphobia. I'm tired of always being on my guard around people. I'm tired of dealing with the VA's bullshit. The only thing I never seem to get sick of is smoking cigarettes.

Changes are terribly traumatic for me these days, but the monotony is killing me. I'm afraid, and I'm angry, and I'm tired of not being in control. I'm actually starting to envy certain members of my family for their alcoholism. Oblivion is so damn tempting. The idea of something like deep space, just a huge empty void is my happy place right now. No feeling anything necessary. No self-awareness. Just the great nothing. These are the kinds of fantasies that are going to get me put away if I don't watch it. It's a damn shame when you can't even enjoy a good imagery without worrying whether you've finally taken a stumble over some invisible psychiatric line. The depression gets disturbingly morbid sometimes, and I get tired of trying to think happy thoughts. The good doctors will just change my meds again.

I should probably quit before I talk my way into a padded cell, but it makes it a little easier to bear to just rant once in a while. I'm way too frightened of people to say the whole truth anymore. It's always just a little too much. Not to mention I don't trust anyone that works for the VA. I swear to tell the truth, not the whole truth, but nothing but the truth.

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