The cat has left the curtain open again.
As much as I love her, I mostly want to strangle her.
To keep my homicidal fantasies in check, I've gone as far as nailing the curtains to the wall itself.
I detest the light in my room.
More than the actual rays itself, I detest lack of sleep.
It puts me in a most foul mood.
I've gone two entire weeks now with recurring Insomnia.
It has me by my big toe and refuses to let go.
I feel the drowsiness coming, I welcome it but the act of sleep itself eludes me. What miniscule sleep I do get is riddled with nightmares.
I don't know how people do it.
I applaud those who can simply lie their heads on a pillow and close their eyes. The Sandman must indeed be the most wonderful, magical person there is.
I, on the other hand cannot.
I lie my head on the pillow and begin the groove of tossing and turning.
It's like stepping into a room full of screaming Investors on Wall Street.
The constant shouting over one another, each individual voice wanting so desperately to be heard. Ideas and accusations flung everywhere.
Welcome to my mind.
The chaotic place that drives me quietly insane.
The shouting at night is too much.
God, I just want some fucking rest!
Shut up! SHUT UP!
I can't sleep unless I'm on something, whether it's alcohol or even pills.
Having old neighbors who you constantly do favors for has it's advantages.
They take way too many unnecessary pills or sometimes don't even take them at all.
Painkillers and anti anxiety pills frequent my stomach much more than food nowadays.
Once the drowsiness kicks in, the fun can start.
Late into the night it gets before I finally succumb and sweet unconsciousness hits me. No more chatter, no more insecurities and worry.
I can just close my eyes be like everyone else.
I am currently in the shithouse everywhere else in my life.
I'm literally living paycheck to paycheck. Am feeding my daughter scrambled eggs for dinner because I can either buy food or have gas in the car for work which is 45 minutes away.
She's understanding and patient with her loser mother, maybe even thinks of all of this as an adventure.
God this fucking car.
I had a flat, a simple flat that turned into having to buy another tire because "The tire you have has a bubble. If you drive one more day on that, you'll get into a horrible accident when it blows."
This car feels like an expensive, stripper girlfriend I can't afford.
I'm sure I get a lot of "Omigosh, you're doing that bad you should've told me" from people.
The truth of the matter is I'm a child of keeping it to yourself.
It was drilled in my head to never let anyone know just how bad you're doing, most people just don't care, they are just nosy.
It's actually not bad advice, I've seen it firsthand so I know it's not total bs.
If I can still manage to not run this little family of mines (daughter, 2 cats and fishies, oh and houseplants!) into the ground...yet
I'll find a way to survive.
Besides the lack of sleep and lack of money, let's not forget my lack of eat.
I'm nine pounds lighter today.
The one constant joy in this miserable life is the weight loss.
"How will you know I am hurting if you cannot see my pain? To wear it on my body tells what words cannot explain.” -Corrie Blount
It's the simplest way of telling how bad yours truly is doing.
I simply stop caring about eating at all. The emptiness feels like a thousand whip lashes. It feels like a punishment I deserve. I don't want anything unnecessary. I deserve nothing.
You are what you eat.
I feel so out of control. I feel like screaming. I feel like running in the streets.
I feel forsaken and all alone, so alone.
All I have is my behaviors. They are what keep me grounded, sane, insane.
It serves a lot of functions in my life. I use it as a way to punish myself, I use it as a way to medicate myself, I use it for the tension release when things get too strong or too built up.
When I’m done, after this big huge buildup, then there’s an overwhelming feeling of calmness, an overwhelming sense of peace.
It’s kind of like letting out a sigh. I get a peaceful feeling and a kind of self-satisfaction at having hurt myself.
What else can I do?
I can't be like everyone else, I wouldn't even begin to know how.
I'm good at imploding, I'm good at infliction and turbulence.
The little joy of seeing the numbers on the scale keep me alive, keep me going too.
It gets me through the day knowing tomorrow, maybe, just maybe will be ok because one more pound is gone. The weight loss gets me through the days, the long empty days.
The same monotonous routine of not eat, work, not sleep, repeat.