Lately, I’ve been in a weird noncommunicative place. Either I’m posting explosive blog rants because I can’t contain myself, or I’m dead silent because I don’t have anything to say that’s more important than silence.
I don’t really know how I am. I feel like I’m just existing for no reason, so the moment something big goes wrong, I’ll want to kill myself again. It’ll be money stuff–it’s always money stuff. I can’t afford to pay my bills and I don’t know what I’m going to do and when I think about it I start to panic.
I have an appointment with my psychiatrist in the morning, and I don’t want to go. I like the guy, I do. He’s into functional medicine, and he doesn’t get caught up in all the mainstream psychiatry bullshit. But he’s just going to want to run a bunch of tests I can’t afford and then tell me to take a bunch of supplements I can’t afford. So it’s just…what’s the point, you know?
But that’s kind of how I feel about everything. What’s the point of any of it? I know everything’s going to blow up in my face, and I’ll try to kill myself again, hopefully successfully. So why even bother–why not just do it now? I think the only reason I don’t is I’m not motivated enough at this point. When it’s freezing and I can’t pay for heat, then I’ll be motivated enough. It’s fucked up, I know. But it all feels inevitable.