I’m exhausted. I was angry, then a little time went by and I became exhausted. There are so many things on my mind. So many things swirling around in my heart and making me feel sad, and scared, and alone.
I’m angry first and foremost because I haven’t taken my medication today. I can take it and I will, but not until I’ve written this. I’m angry about the medication too. I’m angry that I need it, that I can’t go out in public without being medicated or else I’m overcome by anxiety that simply has no cure.
You can’t think your way out of the anxiety, you can’t be optimistic and hope yourself out, it JUST. DOESN’T. GO. AWAY. You wake up and you do yoga and you exercise and eat a healthy meal and try your best to smile, but still, when you get to work, you start having an anxiety attack and absolutely nothing you do can change that, and the worst part is you know this isn’t just a temporary thing, it’s going to happen again tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that and there is nothing anyone can do to take away this ghost inside you that makes you terrified every day of your life.
I’m upset because I’ll be out of medication in a month or so, and while that is time to find a new doctor, I don’t have health insurance, I was rejected for Medicaid, I don’t know where to try and find a doctor in this state, and I have no money anyway. I already have to pay out of pocket for my prescriptions and while they used to be about $15 each, they’ve shot up to $100+, meaning that I have to have them filled in increments of fourteen days between paychecks. And on top of that, my meds don’t even DO ANYTHING anymore. One of them is an antidepressant and it works moderately well, but the other one is for me to take when I have panic attacks to relieve them, and it does literally nothing. The worst thing is, I can’t stop taking it, because when I stop taking it I get EXTRA anxiety, so I have to keep taking a useless pill that isn’t good for me just because my body can’t go without it.
I haven’t been under a doctor’s care in a year, and it’s been about a year since I was told I have type 2 diabetes. It’s never been managed by a doctor. Who knows what kind of things could be wrong with me, I’m just screwed because I don’t have a doctor, my job will eventually give me insurance (and god knows how much they’ll charge me), but it might not be for a while, and what do I do in the meantime? Worry is what I do, just worry, nothing else, because there’s not much else I can do.
I don’t make enough money. I work almost every single day, fairly long shifts, seven or eight hours each. I spend all of my time at work, and when I get home I relax for a couple of hours and go to sleep, and go right back to work. And yet I STILL never have any money. I pay my very cheap rent, then my car insurance, my phone, and get groceries and gas and I’m done, that’s the whole paycheck. And I only get paid every two weeks. I make nine dollars an hour, that it just simply not enough money to survive on.
I’m angry because every single day I say I’m going to write and most days I don’t. The reason is because I put so much pressure on myself to do it, but there’s nothing I can do to change that, I can’t make myself write by NOT putting pressure on myself, can I? And I write things that I care about all the time on Facebook, things that I want to say, but once I’ve said them on Facebook I never say them here. And I don’t write my novel either, even though I spend every single day thinking about it, and I have years worth of notes piling up on ideas for the story, and I continue to take more every single day. I have several lists of blog topics that never get written. I have so much to say and I just can’t make myself say it. I get too intimidated, I know sometimes what I have to say is going to be crappy or not well-written, and I choke, and I don’t write it.
I want to write a review of the new Evanescence album, I’ve had notes written down for it for three weeks, and I still haven’t written anything. Every time I take my computer and go to Starbucks and sit down to write, I just end up downloading music and watching Youtube videos, I never do any writing.
I’m mad because I don’t truly understand how to play the piano, even though I’m a really good piano player and I’m mostly self-taught, but I hit so many walls. I study other people’s songs, the way they structure their chords, and I notice more and more that I’ve become stuck in my own style, and everything has became the same when I play it, a unique song loses it’s uniqueness when I play it my way because my way is predictable and I know how I’ll play it. I try and scan the piano for a chord I don’t usually play, but when I try to find a progression it’s just the same thing, the same way of playing, the same thing in a different key. Whenever I try to come up with an original musical idea, I realize I’ve just stolen it from another song.
I’m mad because even though I have mountains of notes, poems, scenes, and outlines written, I still don’t have much to show for all the things I’ve created. It’s all just notes, sitting around. I’m mad because I still don’t have anything decent to record with, just using my phone or my old USB mic. I’m mad because I’m twenty seven, almost twenty eight, and I’ve still done nothing with my life. I’m not a writer or a musician yet. I’m still just some kid living in his mom’s house.
But now that I’m getting older, certain aspects of my personality are disturbing to me. I’m incredibly sexual, and that used to make me think I was cute and kinky, now it makes me think I’m turning into an old perverted creep. I’m somewhat contrarian, and I used to think I had a fresh perspective because I tried to see different sides of an issue, but now it makes me think that I’m just an attention seeking troublemaker who doesn’t have anything valuable to say. I used to be able to deal with my guilt and shame over my kinks and my fears and my trauma, and now I feel so weighed down by it all that I don’t know how to keep living.
I am still stuck. I am still in a bedroom in my mom’s house, playing Final Fantasy VII and eating chips. That’s what I did when I was eleven, and it’s what I’m doing now.
I’ve gotten so fat. I have diabetes now because of it. I have two chins, I have stretch marks all over my body, I get exhausted just from walking. I can’t fucking stand it when people tell me I should just accept myself and love my body, because the fact that I’m fat and unhealthy is a PROBLEM, and I wish my friends would say something like “I believe you can get healthy and get in shape,” rather than acting like I have actually done something offensive by feeling guilty for mistreating my body. I’m angry that I can’t lose weight. I’m angry that I don’t know where to begin. I feel so stupid that I’m almost thirty and I don’t really know how to cook or what to make for food.
I feel so unprepared for everything. I feel like such a failure.
I’m scared because I live in a country that gets more and more terrifying every day. I’ve never even wanted to be in America, I always wanted to be in Canada or England, but I’m stuck here, and I’m afraid. I hate this country in so many ways. I hate it’s culture, I hate it’s politics, I hate it’s education system, I hate the way it treats people, I hate it’s religiosity and Christianity and homophobia and racism. I don’t want to be here. I also don’t want to be in a worse place, like a third-world country, but still I feel I have the right to be honest and say I’m terrified of this country and I wish I lived in a better one. I do not for one moment believe this is the greatest country in the world, far from it.
Above all else, I feel alone. So alone. I’ve felt alone for so long now. So long it’s unbearable, it’s excruciating to be so alone. I remember when I was fourteen and laying in bed, and all I wanted in the world was a boy next to me, someone to kiss and fuck and hold and feel safe and happy with. And I still don’t have that. I don’t even have friends who can fill in the gap by being my fuck buddies. I’m still alone. My long-distance boyfriend in England broke up with a couple of weeks ago. I understand why he did it and I felt relieved in some ways, but sad too, and now I’m just reminded of how alone I am, and it makes me feel bitter and disappointed.
So now I’m going to take my medicine, I’m going to play Final Fantasy VII, and I guess soon after I’ll go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I won’t be so mad. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do something that makes me feel proud. Tonight this is all I can do.