Wednesday, October 26, 2011

A little self-hate. :/

Pain, so much of it. I can feel it in my arms, my hands, my sides. I'm bursting open with all of it and there's no one around that can sew me back up.
Pills are making me tired. I should sleep while I still have the chance but I'm much too stubborn and stupid for that. My fingers are adapting to being frozen in time, acting as if they are surrounded in fast-drying cement.
Tomorrow marks treatment round two in order to get me working again. Meanwhile I go on to short-term disability and get fucked sideways on income.
I'm almost ready to go back to New York. If this treatment doesn't work it's what I am going to do. Just go back to New York and get ready to roll over and die. There's no point to living like this. How can this even be considered or compared to living? I fill out a sheet, honestly, about how I'm feeling mentally and it goes ignored. I know I'm depressed, I know I'm having suicidal tendencies.. it's difficult for me to come out and say it. It's like admitting defeat or showing weakness, something I've never been able to do. That sheet is my cry for help and it's just going to get filed away and ignored. Waste of a perfectly good tree, if you ask me.
Everything has lost it's flavor and luster, I'm too busy worrying about things I can't control. It's just paper. It's just things. None of it matters when you are dead, in that case it just becomes someone elses problem. Not mine. What good is worrying about it? So what if I lose my car? It's not like I can drive it anyway. So what if I lose the roof over my head, will anyone out there actually allow me to become homeless? Homeless and sick, I think there are agencies for that.
The worst part of all of this, this entry took me more than two hours to write. I miss my hands.


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