I was thinking of writing Glow Like Jesus, actually... Touch Like Jesus seems a tad short at 50,000 words, but it comes up consistency in length isn't important. It ends at summer of 2019. What happened then, again? Lots of stuff, too much to actually remember.
And then... I start staring blankly at myself in the mirror, with a weird expression on my face. Something's wrong. Something's wrong! What? What, Subbie? Not a conversation I am having at the moment, was Subbie's response... Yes, something is wrong. And sometimes when someone is badgering me or bothering me or there is something intense about a conversation on a subconscious level, I notice consciously, but apparently that's not the issue. What's wrong? I... don't know what to do. It's been intense stressor after intense stressor. And, I feel invincible, however, I am still human, and I know what they say about stress... General change is a stressor, even if it is not a bad thing.
I have had so many fucking things happen one after the other and I took it all in stride. In just the past month, not counting everything that happened before that. What's wrong? Well, it's not that, says Subbie.
Actually... It's the sad social situation. I have no one to talk to about the things that I actually think about on a daily basis. It's a blank, empty room, staring at the wall, no one around... Nah, a roommate who talks to herself about gibberish topics, and keeps me awake. On that note, it's occurred to me that I AM NOT THE BEST ROOMMATE MYSELF, okay... My side of the room is a complete mess. So... fuck, I have no one for support, no people.
I have a friend I see on a regular basis, Chris, and that's the extent of my social life at the moment. It's not his fault, my life is so weird, and I can't talk about what's bothering me with him. There is NO ONE.
Which reminds me of the hospital... I was thinking about the Eminem situation, that was the thing that was keeping me going at the time actually, early on, and I tried to talk to a woman there about it and she wouldn't fucking hear it. Like, I know that is a common delusion, celebrity stuff, but LISTEN ANYWAY GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. The situation was interesting, but... Please, for the love of GOD, don't put me in a situation where I am talking to a mental health professional who is "trained in mental illness." They will not take me seriously for one second, God dammit.
I'm getting annoyed thinking about it now, actually. GOD I CAN'T TALK TO ANYONE. The thing that stands out about the situation, they are going to assume the stuff I want to talk about is a memory confabulation. The important details, they will write off as memory confabulations. Subbie says, that's been an ongoing problem when talking to therapists about my life actually. No, they didn't say it... Just assumed a story I told didn't actually happen.
Not only that, they WON'T talk about it. Won't talk about DELUSIONS.
Grrr.. Anyway... I used to talk to Jason, but, yeah, he's being non-responsive. Little puppy dog tails attached and running in all different directions... That's a blog reference, that's what I'm trying to do with my mental stability here. Subbie says, he doesn't like being my "pillar of stability," not quite stable himself, actually.
So this situation has gotten completely DISGUSTING. Heading off a cliff, here... It's the PEOPLE situation here, not chemical. Actually, I have cut myself slack for even using drugs (marijuana/alcohol) for the time being, because I use it as a substitute for human support. I have no support.
And.... I don't make friend cords anymore. Stopped making friend cords.
Now I'm sitting here mumbling to myself about my mom and how she wants to make appointments.
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