I'm getting weird again.
They wanted to adjust my medication, and I told them to back off. They wanted to tone it down. I said, if anything, turn it up.
The tiniest things are stressing me out to the breaking point. I cry over a loose thread in my sweater or a missed word when I type a message to a friend.
I try. I try like hell to be a good friend, and when I fall apart, there's nobody there. I do my damndest to please everyone, to smile when I'm sad, to fix everyone else's problems.
I have my own.
I know there are people sitting behind their computer screens now, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues. SCREW that. I don't want pity. All I want is someone that actually and honestly cares. I have fought so long and so hard to make it past my relative selfishness, to try to be there for my friends, and it's bullshit. I can't even handle it anymore. I never expected anything but friendship in return... and me not having to scream for it before someone stretches out a hand.
When it gets to the point where the smallest, most insignificant things can send me into a fury, I know something is not right. When a mussed ending to a story or a melodramatic turn in a stupid little roleplay session make me want to throw my computer against the wall... something is not normal. I know I'm not normal. I know it's the depression, the way a night out with my friends can make me lay in bed and cry for hours because it will never come around again, just that same way, where we were all smiling.
I am never alone inside my head. Ever. I can't even draw a breath without that nagging whisper at the back of my brain hissing at me that I am incompetent, stupid, foolish, sick, crazy, unlovable, insane. And at this point, I don't even care anymore. It can say what it wants and I'll believe it.
It's insane, because I'm insane, and nobody can do anything about it.
They wanted to adjust my medication, and I told them to back off. They wanted to tone it down. I said, if anything, turn it up.
The tiniest things are stressing me out to the breaking point. I cry over a loose thread in my sweater or a missed word when I type a message to a friend.
I try. I try like hell to be a good friend, and when I fall apart, there's nobody there. I do my damndest to please everyone, to smile when I'm sad, to fix everyone else's problems.
I have my own.
I know there are people sitting behind their computer screens now, shaking their heads and clucking their tongues. SCREW that. I don't want pity. All I want is someone that actually and honestly cares. I have fought so long and so hard to make it past my relative selfishness, to try to be there for my friends, and it's bullshit. I can't even handle it anymore. I never expected anything but friendship in return... and me not having to scream for it before someone stretches out a hand.
When it gets to the point where the smallest, most insignificant things can send me into a fury, I know something is not right. When a mussed ending to a story or a melodramatic turn in a stupid little roleplay session make me want to throw my computer against the wall... something is not normal. I know I'm not normal. I know it's the depression, the way a night out with my friends can make me lay in bed and cry for hours because it will never come around again, just that same way, where we were all smiling.
I am never alone inside my head. Ever. I can't even draw a breath without that nagging whisper at the back of my brain hissing at me that I am incompetent, stupid, foolish, sick, crazy, unlovable, insane. And at this point, I don't even care anymore. It can say what it wants and I'll believe it.
It's insane, because I'm insane, and nobody can do anything about it.
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