Tag Archives: anger

Leave Me Alone

My case manager keeps calling me.  I’ve been avoiding her for the last few weeks because I just can’t fake it anymore, and I’m afraid if she sees how bad things are, I’ll get hospitalized.  That whole agency is really enthusiastic about hospitalizing people, and I feel like I can’t trust any of them.

I mean, they haven’t exactly done anything that would inspire trust.  This case manager’s not quite as bad as the last one, but she’s still pretty much useless.  The sum total of what she’s done for me in the months I’ve been seeing her is that she brought me one housing application and took me grocery shopping once.  Pretty fucking impressive case management, huh?  I still have no therapist.  I’m still constantly broke, behind on all my bills, with no hope of ever catching up.  I’m still effectively housebound.  But hey, she took me grocery shopping once, so clearly they’re rendering highly effective mental health services.

I want to pick up the phone the next time she calls and scream, “Stop fucking calling me!  You’re not going to help me, so just leave me the fuck alone!”  I want to lash out.  I want to make her hurt because I hurt worse, and instead of helping like she’s supposed to, she just leaves me to suffer alone.  I mean, she’s never once asked about my symptoms or how I’m coping.  Nothing beyond the rote, “Hey, how’s it going?” when I first see her.

Eventually I’m going to have to answer the phone or she’ll send the cops after me.  That would trigger the hell out of me, and I’d probably end up in the hospital.  Of course, if I try to terminate, she could use that as “proof” that I’m refusing necessary treatment (hah, what fucking treatment?) and get the cops to drag me off to the hospital.  It feels like I’m screwed no matter what I do.  I just can’t keep seeing her and acting like everything’s okay, knowing that if I said things weren’t okay, the only additional services I’d get would be hospitalization.  I can’t see her because I just want to scream at her.

I don’t know why I’m so angry at her.  I don’t like the person it turns me into: it makes me want to hurt her, to make her cry.  I don’t like the part of me that makes me want to take out my pain on other people.  There’s no reason for me to be this angry at her.  I mean, I don’t even want to hurt my father like this anymore, and the things he did to me were far worse.  I want to destroy this nice but useless woman, and I don’t even understand why I hate her this much.


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On Anger and Helplessness

When I talk about my anger, I feel like people see me as someone who goes off on people, physically or verbally.  I don’t do that–mine is all directed internally.  I want to scream at people and pick fights, but I don’t.  It all just turns in on myself and makes me feel worthless and hopeless and suicidal.  If I had a foolproof way of ending it, I would.  But I don’t want to risk screwing it up and being “saved,” only to be abandoned again as soon as they decide I’m “okay.”

I don’t want to get rid of all the anger, either.  It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive this long–it’s a way of marking that a lot of terrible things happened to me, but the fact that they happened doesn’t mean they’re okay or I deserved it.  For a long, long time, I thought I never felt anger.  Nothing beyond mild frustration on occasion.  But I was slowly killing myself with my self-harm and eating disorder, and if that’s not the personification of rage turned inward, I don’t know what is.  I really believe that finally being able to get angry at the people and events that had driven me to believe I needed to annihilate myself was what saved me.  I could finally see that what they’d done to me wasn’t okay, and I could turn around and say, “No, it’s you I’m angry at, not myself.”  I could choose to stop destroying myself because I finally understood.

But now it’s different.  Now it’s not me destroying myself, and I can’t choose to change what’s happening to me.  The decisions and circumstances are, for the most part, out of my hands.  So I can recognize that it’s unfair and wrong, I can see that I don’t deserve to have my needs go unmet…but I can’t change it.  So all I’m left with is rage and the familiar desire to destroy myself.  Only this time I don’t want to do it piecemeal; I just want to get it over with and be done.  I just can’t live like this.  No one can really live like this.


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Angry All the Time

Lately, I’m noticing that I’m angry all the time.  I don’t like it.

I feel like I’m trapped in a life I don’t want and have little control over, no matter how hard I try.  I feel hopeless.  I feel abandoned because I’m not getting the kind of support I need.  I keep trying so hard to make my life work, but it feels like almost everything is beyond my control.

So I’m angry all the time.  I want to lash out at all the people who could be helping me but aren’t.  I want to make other people feel as hurt, powerless, and hopeless as I do.

I feel like a monster.

But the truth is I don’t really want to hurt people.  I want to be helped.  I want to connect.  But I don’t know how anymore because all my efforts have failed, so I end up angry and bitter, wanting to lash out and pick fights and hurt people.

I feel so stuck, and the world around me is just getting darker and darker.  Is there any help for me?


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Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

So apparently the roommate is also Facebook-stalking me.  I vented about the situation and made a snarky comment to the effect of, “If you hear a news story about someone in my town who murdered her roommate, that’ll be me.”  Roommate and I are NOT Facebook friends, but she texted me some bullshit about how that’s illegal and she was only talking about it because her mom thought the apartment was gross.


I used to do legal research for a defense attorney, so do you really want to get in a law fight with me?  REALLY?  Please, do call the cops.  I’d LOVE to see them laugh their asses off at you.
See, it’s not actually a crime unless I actually intended to murder you or I intended to intimidate you.

Clearly I didn’t actually intend to murder you.  I mean, please, go through my Facebook and count up all the other people I’ve said I wanted to kill.  It ranges from members of Congress to my immediate family to people who walk on my side of the sidewalk.  All those people are still alive.  See, for it to be a crime, there has to be both mens rea (“the thought of the thing;” basically, intent to commit a crime) and actus reus (“the act of the thing,” or an actual criminal act).  I definitely didn’t have actus reus, and I could probably argue successfully that I didn’t even have mens rea, since I never actually intended to hurt you or anyone else.  I could also name off the top of my head at least a dozen people who’d testify to the fact that I’ve said in person that I wanted to/was going to kill them but who didn’t feel threatened.  Obviously they’re all still alive too.

As for intimidation, you’d have a hell of a time proving that one in court, too.  My Facebook post was public, yes, but since we’re not Facebook friends and you’ve never mentioned your Facebook usage to me, I had no reason to believe that you’d see it.  See, I don’t feel the need to check up on what people I’m not Facebook friends with me are saying about me.  That’s normal.  Facebook-stalking your roommate isn’t.

I vented on Facebook specifically because I didn’t think you’d see it.  Unlike you, I have some basic consideration of other people’s feelings, even when they aren’t people I actually like.  If I’m not going to talk to them directly about what they’re doing that’s bothering me, I don’t pull passive-aggressive bullshit and scream about it where they can obviously hear it.  I deal with my frustrations in venues where I can reasonably assume that they won’t hear so as not to hurt their feelings while I deal with mine.  If you go searching for it, then that’s your fault.  It’s not my responsibility to protect you from unpleasant things you might discover while stalking someone.

I’m just so fucking far past done with this bullshit.  It takes a lot to get me really angry, but once I’m there…well, it’s not pretty.  I would never physically hurt anyone, but I can be pretty mean verbally.  It’s not a part of myself I like most of the time, but it is useful at times.  And once I’ve been pushed far enough that I no longer give a single fuck, which is where I am now…well, if she wants to start a fight, I’m goddamn well gonna finish it.


I have so many other appropriate gifs.  Maybe I’ll do a whole recap of this post using only West Wing gifs because that demonstrates exactly how many shits I give about this.

Actually, I’m bouncing back and forth between “LOL this is is so ridiculous it’s funny” and “It’s not safe and I have nowhere to go that is safe, so I have to kill myself right now.”  It’s lots of fun, lemme tell ya.


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Fuck Off, Dawkins: An Emotional Response

Okay, I already wrote a rational response to Richard Dawkins’ inflammatory tweets about the relative badness of various types of rape and sexual abuse…but I have feelings, too.

Mainly rage.

Dr. Dawkins, have you ever sat in a room full of survivors of sexual abuse and rape and listened to them tell their stories?  Have you heard them disparage themselves, saying that they didn’t deserve to be there because their trauma wasn’t as bad as someone else’s?  I very much doubt that you have.

I have.  I’ve been in that room.  I’ve been the one saying I don’t deserve to acknowledge the devastation sexual abuse and assault caused me and don’t deserve to get help, and I’ve also been the one reassuring another woman that her feelings about being raped were legitimate even though she hadn’t been subjected to the same degree of violence that others were.  It rips your heart to shreds.

I was sexually abused by my father for 16 years and then repeatedly raped for several months by another person.  My father was occasionally violent and sometimes threatened to kill me, but most of his abuse was not violent.  The person who raped me as an adult wasn’t violent and never threatened me.  By your definition, my trauma is bad…but not bad bad.  But I have severe, debilitating complex PTSD and dissociative identity disorder, which are a direct result of those traumas.  DID is generally recognized as the most severe trauma-based disorder, but if my abuse and rape weren’t bad bad, then why is my life so devastated?

It’s incredibly offensive to use rape or sexual abuse just to make a point.  It’s like the movies and books where the writer needs something bad to happen to a female character to move the plot along, so he uses rape even though many other traumas would’ve worked just as well.  It trivializes rape.  You could’ve just as easily used theft as an example for your fucking syllogism.  Clearly you knew that, since you later tweeted about that as a cruel, sarcastic response to people who objected to your comments about rape and sexual abuse.  You’re not a stupid man; you clearly did this to be provocative and offensive, and you did it at the expense of all the people who have been traumatized by nonviolent rape and sexual abuse.

You know what?  I think “nonviolent rape” is a contradiction of terms.  Rape is an inherently violent act, even if it doesn’t leave visible injuries.  It is violence against a person’s soul–in many cases, the emotional equivalent of murder.  To suggest otherwise is incredibly offensive.

I hope you’re ashamed of yourself, but I’m pretty damn sure you’re too narcissistic to feel that.  I am disgusted by you.  I wouldn’t wish rape on anyone, but I wish you could live a day with the emotional aftermath of it.  Then you’d stop being so fucking insensitive about it. 

I want you to hurt the way I do.  I want you to feel the guilt and the shame and the self-hatred and the self-blame every day.  I want you to be afraid of almost everybody, especially anyone with a penis.  I want you to be completely isolated because you can’t trust anyone.  I want you to live on constant red alert because you can never feel safe again.  I want you to live with the flashbacks and the body memories and the nightmares.  I want you to live with the feeling of despair and hopelessness because you will never be able to undo what was done to you.  I want you to feel what it’s like to want to die because the pain is so constant and unbearable.  I want you to know what it’s like to realize the person abusing or raping you doesn’t even see you as a human being.  I want you to feel the utter helplessness when you realize there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.  I want you to fucking HURT.


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Grr! Argh!

I’m just about ready to throw things at somebody.

I was scheduled to have an appointment with my gastroenterologist today.  He has my last set of labs, which I’m very interested in, and we needed to discuss med adjustments to deal with the severe fatigue, the diarrhea, and the leakage.  I needed to get something in place before my road trip to Alabama for my sister’s wedding.

I got there today, and the doctor wasn’t there.  The receptionist said someone had called me to reschedule, but no one did.  In fact, the medical assistant called last week to tell me my labs looked better and my doctor would discuss it with me today!  But it took a conference of three receptionists just to determine that my doctor was not actually even in the office today!  Seriously, it’s not a huge practice.  There are six doctors; it cannot be THAT hard to keep track of who’s there.  And why the hell didn’t you know two weeks ago when I scheduled the appointment originally that he wouldn’t be in the office?  It didn’t sound like he’d had some personal emergency, so I would guess he probably planned his schedule in advance.  Even I have a good general idea of what I’m doing in two weeks, and I’m not a planner.

Then they tried to tell me they couldn’t reschedule me until September 23.  At that point, C, who had taken me to the appointment, looked like she was going to lose it on them.  She’s normally very laid-back and gentle, but she was pissed.  We both told them that was unacceptable because I’ve been very sick, I have a wedding to go to, and the doctor knew this and wanted to see me soon.

So they talked to the medical assistant and bumped somebody’s appointment, but still the soonest they could schedule me in was August 5 at 4:15.  The wedding is August 9, but I have to be there by the morning of the 8th at the latest.  I have to get from western Mass to NYC, and then we’re driving from there to Alabama.  It’s an 18-hour drive, which we’d planned on doing in 3 or 4 days–but clearly that’s not going to work now.

They did put me on the top of the cancellation list, but  that’s no guarantee.  Even if they do get a cancellation, they’re often last-minute.  I don’t have a car, and the bus drivers are now refusing to stop at my street for some reason, even though the previous and the next stops are a long walk from my street on a busy road with no shoulder.  And the buses only run once an hour, and then I’d have to wait half an hour for another bus to get to the GI practice.  There’s the possibility that C or my nurse friend could take me, but they have jobs and might not be available at the last minute.

I’m just so sick of this.  I’m already fucking sick all the time, and these people can’t even get their shit together so I can see my doctor about it.  This is the second time in a row they’ve canceled/rescheduled an appointment on me and not been able to get me in promptly, and it’s the second time they’ve canceled an appointment without telling me.  That’s not okay.  They’re always so nice that it’s hard to be mad at them, but this is endangering my health and potentially even my life.  If my doctor weren’t so awesome, I would say fuck it and go to another practice, but he’s the best doctor of any specialty that I’ve ever found.  Also, there’s not another GI practice in the area to go to.  I just don’t know what else to do.  I think tomorrow I’m going to call and leave a message for my doctor, since he said I should do that if they screwed around with the scheduling.

I just want somebody to make it all better.

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I Hate Conflict

I know that probably strikes people who know me casually as a weird statement.  I love to fight with people.  I work in politics, which is about as adversarial as you can get.  I’ve been sworn at and threatened more than a few times, and I just laugh it off.  I have a strong background in martial arts, even though I’m no longer physically able to practice.

What I can’t deal with is interpersonal conflict.  I hate upsetting people and/or feeling like they’re angry at me.

There was a situation on Facebook earlier today.  It’s been several hours, and my heart is still racing.  I can’t calm myself down.

I have these two friends.  Sam and I have known each other for probably twelve years, maybe longer.  She has a mental illness and MS that causes difficulties typing (among other things), so she often types in shorthand.  Holly is a friend from college who also struggles with mental illness, and she often comments on my posts about invisible illness, since mental illness is also invisible and people struggling with it are often discriminated against.  Sam and Holly don’t know each other, but I would’ve assumed they could relate on the basis of those shared experiences, although to be fair I don’t know if Holly is aware of Sam’s MS.  But Sam has talked about it in comments on my posts that Holly has also commented on, so I vaguely assumed she knew.

Sam commented on one of my posts (unrelated to any physical or mental illness), and her comment was in shorthand; e.g., “4” instead of “for,” no capitalization.  Several hours later, Holly commented in response, saying postmodern English should be classified as a new language.  I read it as kind of bitchy–it was unrelated to the post or Sam’s comment, and in my reading sounded like it was mocking Sam. 

I said, “Sam uses shorthand because she has a disability that often makes it difficult to type.”

Holly’s response: “Okay, but I had to read it three times to understand it.”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole…if you don’t like it, no one’s forcing you to read it.”

At that point, Holly private messaged me and said I did come off sounding like an asshole.  Fair enough–I’m pretty talented at that.  I told her I couldn’t find a more diplomatic way of saying it that still conveyed the point, and I repeated that Sam physically cannot type well most of the time.  Holly said she’d been trying to be humorous, and I said I was sorry, I had misinterpreted the tone, which is easy to do in text.  She said something to the effect of, “I won’t make you put up with me anymore,” which felt kind of passive-aggressive, but I tried to cut her some slack because I know what it’s like to genuinely feel like people don’t want to have to put up with me.  I said I had overreacted and didn’t mean to sound like I liked Sam better than her.  She said she’d lay off commenting for a few days, and I said I understood and left it at that.

But now I’m feeling a whole mess of tangled emotions.  I’m still angry because I feel like once I pointed out to Holly that Sam types the way she does because of a disability, she should’ve apologized, or at least stopped arguing the point.  Her original comment felt snide and judgmental to me.  I can accept that it was an attempt at humor, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still judgmental.  There’s this sort of educated elitism I see happening, and I’m not exempt from it–I’ll admit that I judge some people based on their [lack of] grammar, particularly if they’re habitual offenders.  But I’m also aware that there are a number of disabilities that can cause it.  People with dyslexia can struggle a lot with spelling and grammar.  People with various physical disabilities like MS or rheumatoid arthritis can have difficulty with the physical act of typing.  Dictation programs used by visually impaired people often switch homonyms homophone like you’re/your and there/their/they’re.  Hell, even iPhone’s Siri can come up with some weird transliterations–at a political even, my RFD dictated a text saying “All of the parking lot,” but what Siri came up with was, “I love the parking lot,” which confused the hell out of the guy he was texting.  (We joked that we should adopt that as a social media hashtag for the two western/central Mass regions.)  So it made me angry that Holly, who struggles with her own experience of invisible illness, would continue to argue the point after I told her that Sam’s way of typing was due to an illness rather than willful ignorance.

But it’s very possible that I overreacted.  I can see how “If you don’t like it, no one’s making you read it” could be hurtful, even though that wasn’t my intent.  I feel guilty for hurting Holly’s feelings and making her feel like I don’t like her.

Then I feel frustrated because I feel like I can’t tell Holly what my thoughts/feelings were or what I was trying to communicate.  I saw that I’d hurt her, and I figured that trying to defend or even explain my point of view would seem defensive and make her feel more hurt.  But how do I express my feelings?  Where can I say that it felt like she was mocking my friend for bending grammar to accommodate her disability?  When do I get to say that even though she was trying to be funny, it didn’t come across that way, and I jumped in because I didn’t want Sam to be hurt by her comment?  How do I explain that I felt defensive because I’ve been judged and had snide comments made about my disability?

I don’t know how to balance it all.  I hurt Holly because I was trying to keep Sam from feeling hurt, and I set my own feelings aside because I wanted to make Holly feel heard and mitigate the hurt I caused her.  I knew that an argument with Holly probably wouldn’t get her to see my point because who can see clearly when they’re already hurt?  That’s not Holly’s fault.  But how do I meet my own emotional needs?  I want to feel like my point of view is heard too.  I want Holly not to make comments that might hurt Sam, or anyone else with a disability.  I want to stop feeling like a terrible person for hurting Holly.  I want to feel like I’m not being a crazy, fucked-up drama queen for feeling upset by the whole situation.  And I do not know how to do any of that.

So now I’m struggling with urges to self-harm and to binge and purge.  Partly to punish myself/ease my guilt, but mostly to deaden the storm of uncomfortable feelings.  I know they’re not actually intolerable, but it sure as hell feels that way right now.  I’m trying to breathe normally and slow down my racing heart, with very limited success.  I really, really hate this.


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I feel like crying right now.

And then I feel guilty because I feel like all I’ve done here lately is whine and complain.  I know that’s old stuff, trauma stuff.  I even hear it in my mother’s voice: “No one wants to be around you because you’re so negative all the time.”  I know it’s old stuff, and I know this is my space to say whatever I want to or need to…but I still feel like I should censor myself, like I should just shut up if I don’t have something good to say.

But sometimes things just suck for long stretches of time.  That’s not my fault, and it’s okay to talk about it.  (This is what I’m trying to convince myself of, anyway.)  I don’t want to shut myself up anymore.  I wouldn’t let anyone else shut me up, so why do I let the internalized voice of my mother shut me up?

I’ve had a headache for four days now, and it won’t go away.  If I take any more Tylenol, my liver will reach up my throat and strangle me.  I tried taking a Flexeril on the assumption that it was tension-related, but that hasn’t helped.  I’ve tried ice.  I’ve tried heat.  I don’t have any more prescription painkillers left, so that’s not an option.

And I’m frustrated with my GP.  I think I mentioned before that my insurance suddenly decided my psychiatrist couldn’t write my prescription for progesterone anymore.  I was going to see an OB/GYN, but it was easier and quicker to get an appointment with my GP.  I had the appointment today, and it was useless.  First, they somehow ruined my urine sample, god only knows how.  I gave them a full cup, and I don’t know how they managed to ruin the whole thing.  They wanted me to stay until I could pee again, but I lied and said I had to be back at work.

Then I saw my doctor and asked for the progesterone, but he wouldn’t give me a prescription.  I get that I’m complicated because I have a serious illness and take a lot of meds, but I’ve been on the progesterone already.  I just needed a prescription from a non-psychiatrist because my insurance company was being ridiculous.  But he just said I had to see an OB/GYN.  He wouldn’t even write me a prescription for this week so I don’t go crazy.  Nope.  So now I have to wait until I can get an appointment with an OB/GYN, which, as previously mentioned, scares the shit out of me, AND I’m just going to have to deal with a week of full-blown crazy.  Which is probably a big part of why I’m fighting back tears right now.  Fuck my hormones, and fuck my doctor.

(Disclaimer: most of the time I like this doctor.  It’s just really hard for me to be able to ask for what I need, and it feels really awful when that need then goes unmet.  Then it starts the messages about how I don’t deserve to have needs at all.)


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Random Post Is Random

Randomness, bullet point edition.

–I got a slot as one of the disability add-on delegates to the state Democratic convention.  I’m pretty effing excited about that.  Full voting rights!

–They’re probably also going to make me a whip.  This probably sounds cooler and/or more sadomasochistic than it actually is.  Basically I’d just be responsible for a group of about 20-30 delegates.  Make sure they all get to roll call in the morning or they won’t be eligible to vote all day, and make sure they pay attention and vote when they’re called to vote.  But hey, I’d get to order people around.  I love authority when I’m the one wielding it (but pretty much no other time).

–My regional field director apparently think I represent all disabled people and wants me to do persuasion calls to all the disabled delegates.  This conversation was problematic on pretty much every imaginable level, and it will probably be its own post later on.

–I kind of want somebody to tell me I need to find a new therapist.  Of course, I’m not sure that would actually make me do anything about it–reference previous statement about only liking authority when I’m the one wielding it.  But I feel incapable of making a decision either for or against therapy, and I hate sitting on the fence.

–I think what I really want re: therapy is to not have to do the work of finding the therapist and then be a jerk to them for a while to get the aggression out of my system and make them win my trust.  Which makes me pretty much an asshole.

–I can’t remember if I mentioned that I finally got the results back from the biopsies they took during my colonoscopy.  Mild-moderate inflammation, which is a significant improvement.  Not remission, of course, since my body is a jerk, but definitely improvement from this time last year, which was when I was first getting really sick.  GI doc is trying to taper me off Entocort again.  I hope it works but remain skeptical–the last time we tried that, I ended up in the ER on morphine.

–I don’t know what the fuck my body is up to in general.  I’m having a LOT of muscle and joint pain, but only on the left side of my body.  I swear every joint on my left side hurts.  There’s the old lower back and SI joint pain, but my neck and shoulder have been hurting like hell for the last 6 or 8 weeks–I can’t even lift my arm all the way above my head right now without wanting to cry.  My knee and ankle hurt if I’m on my feet for more than about half an hour.  And the last two weeks, my wrist is hurting too.  At first I thought I’d just slept on it funny, but it hasn’t gone away.  It’s bad enough that I’ve started wearing my wrist brace again.  I’ve never heard of somebody having pain on just one side of their body.  I don’t know if it’s something medical I should be worried about or a trauma/PTSD/DID thing I need to deal with.  Either way, I’m not really dealing with it.  If I went to a medical doctor, they’d write it off as a case of the crazies because who only hurts on their left side?  But it’s not like I have a therapist to help me if it actually is psychosomatic.  So whatever.  I’m just in pain.

–I haven’t had any more panic attacks this weekend, but my baseline anxiety level has been higher than it’s been in a while.  It still bugs the hell out of me that I don’t know what I’m anxious about.  How am I supposed to deal with it when I don’t even know what it is?

–I feel like I should apologize for posting here so much, but I’m trying to resist that urge.  I feel really lonely and disconnected, and I think I’ve been posting a lot because I want to feel connected to someone, even if it’s just via the internet.  It’s hard not having the real-life support I used to have.


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Mixed Bag

Therapy today was frustrating. First I was (accidentally) locked out of the office and left standing out in the cold, which feels like a metaphor for something.

Then I just didn’t want to talk. About anything…but I made the mistake of telling A that I feel totally stuck and alone, and she zeroed in on the alone part. She kept naming people and asking if I felt connected to them and asking when I last felt connected and so on. And I just wanted to scream, “SHUT UP STOP TALKING CANT YOU TELL I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS YOU ARE JUST MAKING ME FEEL WORSE.” But of course I didn’t. I just shrugged a lot and said, “I don’t know!” With mounting frustration. It wasn’t quite true–if I’d looked I would’ve known, but I just can’t stand to look at myself right now.

The whole rest of the day, I’ve wanted to binge and purge. I’ve been wanting to do that for the last few days, actually, out of nowhere, and the urges just intensified after therapy. Everything just feels so wrong and sick and I’m way too full of all of it. I need to empty it all out because everything inside me is wrong.

It probably also doesn’t help that it’s a bad pain day and a bad poop day. I’ve been crapping orange for days, and I don’t know why. Is it bad that I hope something is wrong and I’ll just die? Lots of things are definitely wrong, they’re just not wrong enough to kill me yet.

But on the good new front, my old apartment complex finally returned my security deposit, so I have an extra $975. So tomorrow if I feel up to it, I’m going to the bank and then dress shopping. B and I are also planning a road trip to Alabama for my sister’s wedding–B is big on road trips. Last summer he wanted me to go on a cross-country road trip with a couple of his college buddies, but I wasn’t up for that. This’ll be more manageable, and it should be fun.


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