I’m listening to Type O Negative’s “Everything Dies” because that fits my fucking insane, depressed state right now. If I wasn’t typing, I’d be pacing the fucking floor and contemplating punching something or ramming my head against a wall. It’s one of those days, apparently.
My psychiatrist upped my medication, so maybe my brain’s looking for a level, but it feels like it’s being pulled in fifty different directions. And, joy of joys, I have to teach a class in ten minutes. I can slip the mask on…no big deal. But after that class ends, then I’m right back into the pit. Then I have to get the kids, get ready for rehab, go to rehab, get back home, find some food, rinse and repeat. Fuck.
I felt pretty good yesterday…until I didn’t. I just have to hang on until the medicine works, but that may not be today or tonight. Hell, it may not be until this weekend. I don’t now. I can’t know and that makes me even crazier.
I feel like I’m day three instead of 31. I’m shaking, the negative voices in my head won’t take a breath, and my skin feels like it’s going to melt off. The worst part is my brain feels like it’s going to crack…and then it doesn’t. And then it does.
And then it feels fine, and I laugh. And then I want to crawl under my desk and cry for the next ten damn years.
Now it’s Pantera’s “This Love.” Fuck yeah, Phil, tell ’em….