Apr 04, 2010
How cliche am I? Gosh, I hate myself sometimes. Okay, most of the time. Fine. All. The. Time.
I see my Psychiatrist in nine days now. For the past four weeks I've been communicating with him via telephone (insert Gaga lyrics -- plays song immediately). I feel like a tape, wait, no... is DVR recorder appropriate? That seems to be the most up-to-date thing. See how my brain is working right now. It just jumps from one thing to the next. This is the unedited, well, maybe, /slightly/ (ever so) edited version of my brain. My fingers /are/ slower than my brain, no matter how fast I can type (or can't?).
I am depressed. I feel uncaring towards life, myself, and maybe even others. That statement is true a majority of the time when I am driving. I drive recklessly; I speed; I know I don't hold any concern for my safety (I do wear a seat belt though) and when I pondered it for a millisecond, realized, I really didn't care about the safety of fellow drivers who I might clash with, in the end, to end all life. That is not to say I go driving looking to die, or kill others. It's a statement saying when I do have to drive somewhere, my concern for life is not there. My concern for a speeding ticket is? Makes sense, right? No? Oh? My bad. However, I suppose that is a good thing though, because it does keep me a little in check, and the thought of my employer having to find out about points on my license could end up in me losing my job. So I at least have concern for the future me, so that must mean there is some semblance of "care" inside... inside this rotting corpse... inside this infested mind... this rotting, infested... infected... infiltrated dream... of fields, fields filled with lies... dashed hopes.
My therapist gave up on me. I was crushed. Now, I am just angry. She wouldn't say she has given up on me; however, that is her point-of-view. This, is my journal, and my POV. Does her view even matter anyway? Not really. It's all how things are perceived, not how it was meant to be perceived. That is how this world is *ucked up. So... brown... so brown. No one cares or takes the time... lie... it just doesn't seem like anyone takes the time to consider the other person's interpretation.
Is it my medications? Or perhaps just me, messed up, messed up me... Either way my words are becoming more easily jumbled. Mixed; confused; muddled; flummoxed; *ucked up. I sound unintelligent. This bothers me. I certainly do not possess any magnificent aptitude; however I am no blunt rock.
If you managed to read all of this -- congratulations. Gosh, how many times I have I actually seen 'congratulations' spelled "congradulations". IRK. IRK.
Now, did you know that Amazon came out with a Kindle application for Macs now? Great way to (not) tame my "manic" spending side of me... and books... a plethora of books. Mmm. Probably will buy a book now, because in my mind it should make me happy... and feel better. Better than this rut. This rut filled with empty tears of blue. Deep blue, blue, blue. Darker blue. Void.