My brain is out of fucking control.
I have no idea what is going on in my own head, and I’m starting to feel a feeling beyond terror. Terror and hatred. Hatred and disgust. Disgust and confusion. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I be normal? Feel normal. I’m not normal. I’m a larch tree with a twisted trunk, branches askew. The winds of my mind have whipped me and torn the leaves from my branches, pulled at my bark. I go to the doctor, tell him I feel fucked up, he ups my meds. I take them, I feel fucked up, I go to the doctor, he ups my meds, I take them.
What if meds won’t help? What if my ‘fucked up’ is a special brand that nothing can cure? Why can I seem normal sometimes, but never actually feel it? I think I might be delusional. I see things differently about myself than everyone else. I carry on normal conversations and I do normal things, but on the inside I’m a mess, and nothing I’ve tried is fixing it. I want so badly to be fixed. I cause so many problems with my fucked up brain. So. many. Don’t tell me I don’t, if you think I don’t you just haven’t found out about whatever fuck up I’ve caused yet. It’s all I do.
Did I murder someone in a past life? Am I being punished for former crimes in this life? Why can’t I be normal? I don’t want to fuck my kids up. Sometimes I wonder why I’m still here. They have a normal, wonderful Dad. He could find someone new and raise our beautiful children and they would have foggy memories of their fucked up mom sleeping all day and ‘not feeling well’. I don’t feel well. I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt well. Felt anything other than contempt for myself. Fear and loathing. But here we are, I’m fucking this idea up, too. Too fucked to leave, too fucked to stay.
I’m tired of going to the doctor. I’m tired of making a shitstorm of everything. I’m tired of not being able to slow down on the inside. I lack the ability to repair anything inside of myself.
To hell with it. I’ll start over again tomorrow. Just like I do every day. Research different ways to fix myself. Get nowhere. Medicate. Repeat. It’s all just bullshit, anyway. We’ll do it live.