Misery Blog

I was informed yesterday that certain people think my depression stems from my relationship. Funny, considering I was diagnosed with chronic depression years before the relationship began.

All of my friends graduated from university this weekend. Meanwhile, I found myself in my parents' shower, crying to Elliott Smith and intentionally slicing my thigh with a disposable razor. I don't want to exist anymore.

I stumbled across my first Women's Studies professor's Facebook account and discovered that she's a witch. Some things make more sense now.

I hate the way my mind works sometimes. I'm never over anything, no matter how many years go by.

I am not my partner's keeper. I wish people would at least try to deal with him directly instead of treating me like his secretary or mother. Jesus christ.

People are always yelling outside. I want to hit them.

Now that it's getting warmer, I'm seeing way more bed bugs. It gets to the point where all I can bring myself to do is stare at the wall, Lysol in hand, and wait for signs of life among the spackle. I'm so tired of this.

We got home around 5:30 to find the back half of the shed broken into and a bin of dirty needles from the needle exchange busted open, so we then proceeded to carry at least two dozen big red bins of used sharps inside so as to prevent them from making their way back onto the streets. Fucking kill me.

I'm pretty sure my caloric intake has gotten really pitiful again. Was I eating that many sweets? Do I really rely so heavily upon snack foods that when I run out, I just don't eat? Or do I just not really get hungry when I sleep all day?

I just read through over two years of my own posts. I’m still a miserable piece of shit-- I’ve just gained weight, grown my hair out, and bought more crystals.

I must still be sort of punk-- Jeff Ott just added me on Facebook. I didn’t even realize we weren’t friends anymore.