Well hell. I should probably preface this post with a warning: Epic drama.
I am just trying to not be homeless. A homeless agoraphobe is a suicide looking for a place to happen.
Obviously, and I have to say this way too often, I'm not suicidal.
A cherished friend recently found a way to help me remember that I used to be a real person and for a brief moment in time, I felt like myself again. Which is awesome, because I never enjoyed hating myself for the blank slate crazy I've been over the last few years and in particular the last few months. Of course, it was only a temporary reprieve. Inevitably, the fresh memory of having a real personality instead of functioning on medications with the least negative side effects, has thrown my current...state into sharp contrast.
I would like to stop and take a moment to bask in awe at my own depth of resilience. I used to be a person and now I'm a wreck bouncing from one awful symptom to another. And I have survived this for 7 years. I've listed and described my symptoms here for years. I kept writing what felt like extremely repetitive narratives of what my life has become. It's hard to quantify how much I've lost and therefore survived. But I did survive, although, at times, I really hated my own tenacity.
I am back in full on survival mode. Displaced again, although this time of my own choice. I took my cat and my clothes and walked away from everything else. I left my medals and my paperwork. I left my knick-knacks and my treasured collection of books. It's all gone now. I have my cat, my car, my computer, and my clothes. I'm running wifi off of my cell phone in order to publish this and then I have to turn that off because my cell phone bill is going to be astronomical. It's not like I can't afford it. Despite having spent 75% of my savings over the last year, I'm still doing alright. Realistically, worrying about money, might actually kill me. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
I've turned off all non-essential systems mentally. I don't try and regulate my impulses. I don't filter my thoughts, so if I think it, I say it. I don't think about tomorrow.
I just wrote about a dream I had, and basically, I need a fucking vacation. Reality needs to go bother someone else for awhile and leave me the fuck alone.