Wednesdays are my psych days. I spend the morning building myself up for my 230p appointment. I leave my apartment about 130 or so to drive through Dallas bound traffic and make it to the medical building near Harry Hines. Drop my car off with valet parking. Pass the orange glass statue in the lobby and into the elevator with the pleasant female voice that announces the floor.
"Fifth floor. Going up."
I spend an hour there with Dr. Z. Always crying. Always.
Pay my fee. Head to bathroom to gather myself together. Back into the elevator.
"Fifth floor. Going down."
Lobby. Statue. Valet parking. Interstate home.
Tears in my eyes. Angry and disgusted with myself. Hopeless...
....Still so hopeless.
The rest of the night, I'm too exhausted to care about anyone.
I feel as if I've done battle with Goliath; and being the poor marksman that I imagine I would be, my pebbles are not well aimed.
It's tiring. I do want to give up. I told him that I'm probably going to give up on it. I always do on everything that I attempt. I'm so tired. Without change of pace, he calmly replied that we'd talk about that first.
I feel like everyone is expecting this to be over very soon. That I will be back to my "old self" that they like and are use to, despite my telling so many people that they haven't really witnessed me in my worst which I feel is my old self.
I'm lost and confused and things are only going to get worst. I'm not a good friend. I'm not a good mom. I'm not anything that I'm proud of right now....well, I'm never proud of myself. In the past, I've said that I've covered my wounds with band-aids to just make it through the day. And now, the flesh is being opened up. It's being exposed and cleaned out and it's a stinky rotting mess in here. It's not for the weak, so if you're bowing out....move the fuck on!
I don't know how long this mood is going to last. I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm feeling vulnerable. I'm feeling miserably short-changed. I'm angry and pissed and impatient. I'm preoccupied and selfish and mean. I'm sorry I'm not as sympathetic as I usually can be. I'm sorry that I'm not answering phonecalls. I'm sorry that I'm ugly to you. BUT at this moment I'm using all my energy to keep my shit together. I'm closer to suicide than I care to be and I'm looking for that grain of hope to keep me from doing it. Sometimes, I'm waiting for one of you to call me to save me (sad, isn't it?) And all the while, I'm trying to work and be productive and function with some degree of normalcy, when all I want to do is lay down on some uncomfortable cot in a padded room of some mental hospital. I want to escape.
Every Wednesday, I hate leaving my doctor's office at 330p. I dread hearing that my time is up and that I have a week before I can empty some more of my pain out. I just want to linger and sit in the confines of that small room on the fifth floor and just feel slightly better for a little bit longer.
Cookies, a table cloth, and a refrigerator condenser.
I slept at work last night. I'm sitting here at my desk, waiting for the rest of the day to catch up with me. Whore's bath in the restroom sink. Thank god I always pack lotion and my job doesn't involve sweating profusely. I don't think I smell bad....guess we'll find out.
Why the odd arrangements? I have no money for gas. I worked all day yesterday and will do the same today. I have just barely enough gas to get me home. If I had driven home after work last night, I wouldn't be able to get here this morning. Tomorrow I have off so I don't have to find my way back here until Tuesday. I'll figure something out....Maybe pawn something.
I don't understand why my life is like this. I don't have bad habits like drinking or smoking that takes my money. Em and I barely eat out anymore and only when I have a surplus which is like never. I don't have a shopping habit. We don't pay for movies. We don't go anywhere. Nothing. Boring nothingness. So, why always no money?
This time the fucking doctor's visit took my last bit I had plus some. I have a negative account that's going to eat part of my paycheck on Friday because I fucking had to go to the doctor....Sick of this shit. Is there a doctor for that?!
Yesterday, I sat at my desk. Poured out all my medication for my blood pressure. Forty-four of them. Enough to drop my pressure to nothing. Enough to stop my heart perhaps. I stared at them and fingered them. Counted them over and over. I still think of their pinkness against desk grey. I am closer than I care to be to that point.
I can't be hospitalized because I can't afford it. It will only create more absence of money. And poor Em.
....but I need it. I need help.
I am a foolish fool to the foolteenth degree. For fear and self-preservation, I told someone I cared deeply about in very short, non-descript terms....goodbye.
I couldn't and still can't breath.
It shouldn't matter, right? I didn't mean much anyways. Passing fancy. Desperate whore. Just Naomi.
It didn't matter that he didn't care as much as I did....do. I just like having him in my life. An amazing person that I feel embarrassingly trivial in comparison to. Eh! It doesn't matter. I don't matter. He's better off. That's why I did it anyways. Nothing to do with saving myself the heartache. I just didn't want to put him in that weird predicament of having to tell me FUCK OFF, CRAZY!
I'm so ashamed of who I am.
A crappy day. I'm sitting in the bathroom at work thinking of 1001 one ways to die. I just want to turn off the lights and lock myself in here and cry. Always feeling desperate and without options. It's a mess.
I was starting to pull out of it but I'm Always tottering, aren't I? Stupid, fucking, fat, ugly, loser me!
Everything I have is just barely mine. I'm so scared of losing what I value that I cling so hard to it or ignore it completely.
Scooping cookies for work and hanging myself popped into my head. But I can't do it because I have fucking cookies to bake. That's more ridiculously insane than the fucking act.
I should call Dr. Z.....I won't. Why? I feel like I'm being a drama queen and will be seen as such.
I hate everyone. Jealousy. Pure Jealousy. Stupid fucking Jealousy.
I just want to hurt someone. I'll probably take it out on me. Maybe cut myself. Just to put this emotional pain into something tangible.
I need help. And I can't afford the help I need. I swear. I'll end this shit one day. I cannot go on with this shithole life of mine.
Without my permission, the sun has decided to begin its diurnal ascent. I am awake, sleepily awake, but still awake. Quirky dreams with people my brain created from literary and cinema characters. But I was distinctly there with a lover, sweetly kissing my throat and pursed lips. Then the alarms rudely shake me awake warning me of the impending day.
Damn you, you solstice pussy-blocker.
Eh, even asleep, I'm not getting any.