déjà vécu, this is definitely about you

  My brain is a glass jigsaw puzzle that purposefully jumps out of my skull to smash itself to pieces on the floor once in a while  

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My new handle will be thisisdefinitelyaboutme.

Feel free to add me!

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I’M REBRANDING BITCHES

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Bob came online earlier. Told myself I’d hit him up after purchasing groceries including ABV 9% Beer™. He went offline since and I can’t bring myself to message him now. 

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Right now it feels like I have two choices with regards to the Bob situation. Today at 8:03 p.m. it will be two weeks since he left me on read. Being the impatient fuck I am, I want resolution to this - in one way or another - as soon as humanly possible. 

So I’ve been toying with the idea of leaving him a one liner like “We still talking?” or something and taking it from there. I do realise that there’s a chance he will not respond or respond negatively, but at least that way I’ll no longer feel like I’m in limbo. 

I’d rather be crushed by rejection than hang on to uncertainty. 

I am always this melodramatic about people I feel I have developed a strong connection to. 

[hirxeth]

“You changed the scenery, but not the fucking situation.”

Girl, Interrupted (1999) dir. James Mangold

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I’m trying to keep this in mind while I wrestle with the thought of hospitalising myself. I’m feeling somewhat better today: less hopeless, less empty, less emotional and less dead inside. 

I know I must be better because my neck pain has dissipated almost completely and even my jaw feels less tight. 

I need myself to be better. 

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Probably just a coincidence, but ever since I started my Sertral the frequency of my usage of the word “asshole” has grown exponentially. 

[expressions-of-nature]

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CW: alcohol, sui- reference (I’m safe), mental illness

Recently I feel as if the void is going to consume me whole. Nothing can fill it: not drugs, not alcohol, not sex, not food, not music, not cooking, nothing at all.

I’ve just knocked back my first cup of wine. I never bother with glasses anymore. 

Of course I cracked: turns out I also needed to buy water, so purchasing alcohol during my trip to the grocery store was an inevitability.

I am aware that my mental health is deteriorating fast again. As the end of summer approaches I’m having déjà vécu of  last September. 

Matters have been deteriorating to the extent that I discussed the possibility of inpatient care with my psychologist during our last session. I feel desperately unwell. It doesn’t show. I look normal. I look fine; maybe a bit tired, but over all I look well put together. And yet, while my partner and I were hanging out with a friend of mine yesterday, all I could think of was how convenient it would be to knock myself the fuck out - permanently - with all the meds I have in my chest of drawers (a lot). 

What scares me the most is that my psychologist did not write off my desire to discuss inpatient treatment. It was kind of him, but it also made me feel like the situation may be more desperate than I think. My psychologist is definitely not an alarmist, so having been taken so seriously right off the bat made me feel uncomfortable (besides validated). 

My plan at the moment is to wait it out until after my holiday in October, if that is indeed possible. I think a change of air and some time away from the same five scenarios might do me some good; granted that I don’t crack before I get to leave. It’s less than a month now, but I’m not sure if I can even handle it that long. 

[unregisteredcat]

Some backgrounds for Spurt, me and my classmates’ short film

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CW: alcohol

I’m trying to smoke myself into a coma to avoid popping over to the grocery store for a bottle of something alcoholic; preferably wine or beer. This is particularly alarming because it’s not even god damn 10:00 a.m. yet. 

I drank half a bottle of wine while over at a friend’s house last night, then woke up in the middle of the night at least three times thinking “I could murder a swig of booze right now...”.

I also woke myself up grinding my teeth at some point. I suspect that this is a side effect of mixing Lamictal/Lamotrigine with alcohol: I never, ever experienced bruxism (a.k.a. teeth grinding) post-boozing before being exposed to Lamictal about a year and a half ago. Personal experience in this regard has shown that the more I drink, the worse it gets. When I was a raging alcoholic around this time last year, I started clenching my teeth during the day as well. On the good days it just makes my neck and jaw hurt. On the bad ones it gave me episodes of tinnitus and labyrinthitis, which really helps when I’m dissociating the fuck out [/sarcasm].

I’ve got a three-day weekend ahead of me and my self-destructive side really feels like capitalising on that free time. A storm is due today; the thought of getting fucked up as the rain pours outside is so, so tantalising. I’m going to try my best to hold off. I really don’t want to go back to being a raging alcoholic. My fucking kidneys and liver probably can’t fucking afford it anyway. Fuck knows my bank account can’t. 

[horrifying]

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We’re expecting thunderstorms tomorrow.

BRING IT. 

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Therapist: What do you mean by "All my moods come with with sides?"

Me: I meant 'side' actually. Happy with a side of suicidal ideation. Sad with a side of suicidal ideation. Angry with a side of, confused with a side of, amused with a side of suicidal ideation...

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I have a therapy session in less than two hours. It’s an out-of-town session.

Part of me is very reluctant. I don’t feel like catching the bus. 

I’m tired even though I had a three-hour-long nap this afternoon.

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I came across this by accident, after many, many years.

I thought it reminded me of someone I thought I loved dearly, but then I realised it was just BPD infatuation. 

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Here’s some motherfucking borderline truth for you all: I got drunk to massacre whatever is left of my flagellated spirit but ended up listening to empowering shit like Kesha’s “Praying” instead.

This is one of the extremely rare perks of being BPD’ed.

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When the motherfucking alcohol hits that amazing spot in your brain that makes all the craziness stop...

I’m only a third way through my first pint but I feel anaesthetised already. Anaesthetised is good enough for me and most days it’s the best I can hope for.

I don’t know why the world is the way it is. I don’t understand how humans human. I don’t get how nature works. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m not even really on this planet. Instead I live on the surface of a barren and hollow planet that exists only inside of my own head. 

It’s doesn’t always feel as bleak as it sounds. Sometimes living there - away from all the real death, suffering and misery - is comforting, in the same way a thinning blanket in a cold prison cell on a January night would be. That’s better than losing a parent. That’s better than being sexually assaulted. That’s better than all of the other shit that happened to me. 

I’ll pick that fucked up planet swimming around in my head any day over this capitalist realm where fascists thrive, paedophiles roam free and anyone who is not a white, cisgender, heterosexual, neurotypical male is a fitting candidate for discrimination and annihilation. 

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Today I decided to reward myself for staying sober yesterday, so I bought beer.