Unholy Shadows

All right for the last couple of days, I've been seeing shape and shadows flit about in my peripheral vision. I don't like it, it reminds me of my darker days when sleep was as illusive as a fairy god-mother. This doesn't bode well. It sets me on edge and makes me urgy to be perfectly honest. I recall seeing shadows move in unholy ways and thinking that mice and rats had infested my room, but that just wasn't true. And it isn't now.

I know what I think I'm seeing is fake, I know it isn't real. This is how I know that I'm not crazy. When you question, you aren't completely nuts yet. Once you accept this as "normal", you've gone round the bend, as they say. So that is how I know for sure that I don't need to be locked up, not yet anyway.

My problem is the reasoning behind it. Last time this happened, I was freaking right out of my head, going days without sleep, rarely eating, and so stressed out and fed up with life that I am incredibly surprised that I didn't off myself at eighteen. Its not nearly so bad this time round, but my question is why? Why am I seeing this? What's different?

I'm sleeping better these last few months then I have in the previous ten (?) years. I'm not sure how you'll think of getting five to seven hours sleep, but it used to be no more than four. I'm calling that an improvement. I just can't seem to see the reason behind the shadows. And to save you asking, I only just saw the optometrist (see the post I Hate November) and she said that my eyes were very healthy, with the exception of needing corrective lenses of course. I'm fairly sure its nothing to do with my physical eyes. Psychological? I'm not as certain.

How screwed up am I? The forever question seems to be ... why? Its always why?!!! Why do I harm? Why am I so depressed all the time? Why does every small mistake amplify into a failure? Why can I not simply accept that I am 'enough'? Always... always its 'why'. Three simple letters, one tiny word, but such a large meaning behind it.

SMASH Book

All right, I love my journal. I do! I love the pen flying across the paper, leaving behind the hen scratch that is my hand writing. I use different coloured pens to write with, each day gets its own. I don't write every day, just when I feel I need to, a sort of therapy I suppose. Lately, much of my journal entries have been like my blog, depressing. But I think I'm going to start something new.

Smash book! Think of scrapbooking but without the Martha Stewart's of the world. (In case you didn't know, I loath Martha Stewart. She is not, in my most humble opinion, 'a good thing'.) Anyway, the basic rules are... there are no rules. If you like it, smash it in. Postcards, tickets, receipts from that coffee shop you love. You can also art up the pages with quotes and magazine cut outs. Whatever you like, do! I love that there are no rules like with "traditional" scrap booking, which always seems to have pretty pictures and stickers and dye cut frames and whatever. Not my gig.

I'm "organic" in my cooking, pouring a bit of whatever herb in my hand and saying 'yeh that's about right' before dumping it into the pot. I want the same freedom with my memory books.

Anyway, I just started one and so far I have a page from the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who. I glued a copy of my ticket along with a 10 of hearts playing card that I found. David Tennent is my favourite Doctor and the card seemed perfect to smash in.

I like the idea of just writing things I like, or places I've been, or whatever. So we'll see how it goes. 

Medicaid and Me

So therapy today went well. It looks like I can use medicaid to continue therapy starting in January, only a few weeks away. There was talk of cognitive behavioural therapy. I've not had the best of luck with people that have gone through that process. They come out being annoying and preachy, sounding much like a religious zealot. We'll see.

I'm just tired of feeling like this all the time. I'm always depressed, its hard for me to be motivated to do anything. I'm almost always on edge these days, its like that's my new normal and I hate it. I hate it! The feelings of being worthless are weighing on me.

I told Doc something I never have outside of my little blog that no one seems to read. I told her that "I'm stupid with sleeping pills". She asked for clarification. I have taken sleeping pills with alcohol because I don't want to deal with anything, just sleep and forget. Bingo, pills and booze. Technically, its self harm because its not the best thing for the liver and because the goal is to make the pain go away. Not something I'm proud of and it could easily have become a very bad and addictive habit. Now I have rules when it comes to pills like that.

I think that my sleep patterns worry Doc. I'm doing better! I can get at least five to seven hours of sleep these days. Better then even a few months back where four to five was the limit. So come January, we'll see how things are going.

I Hate November

I really cannot say how glad I am that November is over. If it can go wrong, it did last month. First week, I had a flu-like bug that knocked me flat for several days. I can't call it a real flu because I get ripped by the medical folks I know. Unless I went to hospital, was diagnosed, and treated by a doctor it wasn't a real flu. Whatever, if you're vomiting everything you've eaten for the week, shaky and feverish then I call it a flu. Don't agree? Well, I don't care!

Middle of the second week, my van failed the county ordered smog check. That meant that it had to be repaired. There goes about $300 including diagnostic to repair what was screwed up by Pep Boys! NEVER GO TO PEP BOYS!!! I paid them six months ago to replace my gas tank, which I had punctured on a large rock. I wanted and paid for a new tank, they gave me a used tank and charged me full price. Now, I'm unemployed so my father, kind man that he is, paid for the repairs. He also took being ripped off by Pep Boys much better than I would. Personally, I wanted to go down there and demand my money back for the gas tank "repair". Dad wouldn't let me. *shrug* Oh well.

Next? Oh my glasses broke. I need them to drive and see anything past six feet from my face. Joy... No glasses. Again, my father to the rescue. There was another $200. The van repair and the glasses set him back $500 in a week!

End of November is in sight, almost to the finish line and.... cold. I catch a cold! Of all things! A damned cold.

Needless to say, I wasn't very kind to myself last month. Cuts on my legs and a burn. I didn't eat very well either. In a way, I feel as if I deserved everything that happened last month. But then I think, no I don't. I didn't do anything wrong and I definitely don't believe in karma.

This feeling just never seems to go away. The low depression. I'm never truly happy, maybe a smile here or there, something will make me laugh, but it never lasts. I'm so tired of all this. Tired of everything. 

Rant On Mental Health

All right, I am getting real sick and tired of hearing on the news how almost every bad thing with a gun is being attributed to a person with "mental health issues". Yes, I understand that people with mental health problems are more prone to extreme behaviour, but the the news of late is making it seem as if the only people who go on shooting rampages or even murder just one person all have some disorder. Those kinds of blanket statements are what make these people not seek the help that they desperately need.

I'm about to say something that will tick off the few people that actually read this thing, but oh well. One of the big issues that annoys me is the growing number of (mostly) men shooting schools, public places, and recently the Navy yard. Most of these people are diagnosed with PTSD- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Most of them are also veterans. Personally, I don't feel sorry for them. Before you flip a wig, let me explain why. They chose to go over to a foreign land, pull a trigger on a massively stupid sized gun, and blow the life out of another human being. In nearly every culture, the taking of a life kills a piece of yourself as well. This is why these men (again mostly males, though many women have PTSD from wars as well) have troubles, they took something that wasn't theirs to take. It doesn't matter to me who sanctioned it.

I find it interesting that women who are victims of violent crimes don't purchase a gun and open fire on a football team of guys, yet a former soldier will kill innocents in a cafeteria.

The point is this: Mental health is waning in this country because its the little black secret that no one wants to really talk about and thus tries to sweep under the rug. It doesn't go away, it will grow to the point in which there is no longer any ignoring it. As one who suffers with depression and self injury I can say this, no one wants to talk about or help those with mental illness until its too late and there is a body count on the nightly news.

So I'm A Horrrible Person

Here's the story:
A woman was out jogging after eight in the evening. A man dragged her to a nearby field and sexually assaulted her. She managed to get away and flag down a passing motorist. The suspect got away, but the victim managed to get a description for the police.

Here's why I'm horrible:
WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE DOING?? I'm not usually one to blame the victim, but I am wondering why she was out jogging after dark ALONE in a park. This is not 1954, people, times have changed and there are a ton of monsters out there. If you have to go out after dark, don't go alone. If you do have to go alone, keep a taser in one hand and pepper spray in the other.

I should feel bad, I do... I really do feel bad for her, no woman should go through that, but common sense dictates that she shouldn't have been out there alone. I hope the police find the man that assaulted her. I hope they put the cuffs on too tight, castrate him, and hack off his thumbs. What? You think the thumb thing is too harsh? You try grabbing someone and keeping them pinned without thumbs. See, doesn't work. Personally, I think all rapists and "sex offenders" should have their thumbs removed and not be permitted to receive unemployment or disability.

So I'm horrible... so what? You have no idea.

Fear and Self Loathing

No job, no prospects. Nothing. I'm feeling damned useless and a failure. Self loathing is creeping in and starting to rear its ugly head hissing to me that I am what I fear becoming. Sleep is evasive, filling my head with nightmares. The only way to keep them at bay is to either use a sleep aide or harm myself. I wish to do neither, but I feel I may have no choice. I know what you're thinking, "You always have a choice." Well, bite me! I feel powerless here! I'm drowning and falling into an abyss, ripping my nails out as I claw my way back from the brink of disaster.

For a little while, I was feeling good, really good! Now I feel like crap and wish I hadn't had the time to feel good in the first place. At least then I had no idea what I was missing. I feel like I'll never get that back, though I know the thought is damned ridiculous.

There has to be an end to this crap.

I've started to punish myself with food. For instance, I'll only allow myself to eat once I finish certain tasks. Or I won't let myself eat anything because I'm not working. "Don't eat what you don't earn." I'm surviving mostly on coffee. I feel like injuring now, cutting and not giving a care. Burning and saying 'to hell with it'.


I'm supposed to go out with Nightingale tomorrow evening. Something tells me that she would notice, she tends to be very observant and sees far too much. Sometimes I feel she can look into my eyes and see everything.

Right now, I need a cut or a burn the way a junkie needs a damned hit.