I had this long, long… looooong post I was working on over the past few days but I deleted it and decided to do this instead.

Okay. I’ve been spending too much time wallowing in the misery of my past. I still have a lot to work through, and little help in doing so, but I don’t want to spend all of my time being negative and thinking back on how screwed up I am and how it’s brought me to this point in my life. It’s not healthy. It’s not helping. So I’m going to try (emphasis: TRY) to be more positive and forward thinking.

So what am I doing to try and make things better. Well, first things first, I’m getting my sleeping in order. I set my alarm for 6:00 am every morning. So far I’ve been up well before that as I haven’t quite adjusted to it yet. Like this morning I’ve actually been up since 3:30. Either way I’ll eventually get used to it. Bed time is 10:00 pm. So a good rounded schedule for sleep.

I’m trying to think of things to get myself to do during the day that I can easily deal with on a regular basis. Basically, it’s like I want to go back to school. Certain “periods” during the day when I’m going to expect myself to be doing something specific. I have a few interests, I’ve just never been able to get them to coalesce at any one time so it feels like I actually have a life. Usually I just focus on one thing until I’m burnt out on it and then move on to something else. I can’t do that any longer if I want to feel like I’m actually getting somewhere. Like I’m actually doing something.

Food is going to be the real hard part. I porked yesterday like nobody’s business. When I weighed myself last night (I just had to know) I’d gained around eight pounds. EIGHT! I’m down to like two to three this morning but still! I have a kitchen scale now though so I can keep track of calories and carbs more specifically. I just need to use it and keep my urges in check.

I’ve written off my foot. It’s actually healed rather well at this point, the ulcer is smaller than it’s ever been and seems to be healing over, but I can’t wait for it any longer. My podiatrist said it’s going to continue to break open anyway so what’s the alternative. Still no word on my surgery either. Going in to see the podiatrist in January to hopefully get some answers on that. In the mean time, a nice walk after lunch every day sounds like a good place to start. Nothing too long or too strenuous to begin with. A half hour or so at first. I’ll work up from there.

As you can see, I have a vague plan. I need to focus it though and figure out how to actually put it into action. The easiest will probably be having lunch at noon and then going for a walk after that. The rest I can build up around that. I just need something to anchor onto.

Now as for lunch, I need to work on eating better. Healthy eating is not my strong suit. Maybe a salad and a sandwich? We actually have the stuff to do that, I think. Lettuce needs to be checked on. I could do that today though. Tomorrow? We’ll worry about that then. Maybe soup and a sandwich? Gotta work on that whole “and a sandwich” thing though. Hmm… What else would make a quick but health-ish lunch.

Time to research!

Once upon a time…

I remember as a kid my mom got us all these story books. They came with audio cassettes of the story as well so you could read along while the cassette played. I don’t know why she got them, I don’t know where she got them, but I remember spending a lot of time with them. I would set up all my little toy cars and play drive-in. Turn the page. Listen to the audio. Turn the page.

They were older stories that, for the most part, I either had never heard before or were very different from versions that I had. There was the girl who’s brothers were turned into birds and she had to make shirts out of flax to turn them back. I think Rumpelstiltskin was there as well. As was the guy who made soup from a stone. Snow White, Rose Red, Briar Rose, Rapunzel. They were often quite dark, much closer to the original source material I’ve come to understand. Still, I liked them, and I would sit and listen to them for hours. They were warm to me. Comforting.

And then we left everything.


It’s hard learning from a young age never to trust anything or anyone because you never know when it will all just go away for no apparent reason. You never let yourself get close or attached. It’ll hurt just that much more when…

Jesus Christ! I never really had a childhood, did I. All the moving, running, hiding, homelessness. But you learn to bury it. Compartmentalize. Some of it even felt fun to me. Like when we were living in that abandoned duplex. It was almost like camping, at least I told myself. You had to slog through the garbage in the kitchen to get to the back bedroom where we had a mattress on the floor. The neighbor ran an extension cord to us so that we could have a lamp. There was a broken television in the back yard and me and my younger brother would throw rocks at it trying to break the tube. It was so cold that morning. There was frost on the grass.

Strange how certain memories stick with you when others completely fade away. It’s like your brain is literally trying to hide things from you. It tries to lock onto things that gave you even the tiniest bit of happiness and then amplifies them. I know a lot of terrible things happened to me as a kid. I remember quite a few of them. But I also know that there are a lot that I don’t remember for whatever reason.

When my mother’s boyfriend slashed our bike tires because they were fighting. I remember that one because it was so odd to me. The violence in my mother’s relationships was usually confined to her and whoever. She kept the right to be violent towards us all to herself. That was a strange incident though because it spilled out on us. Not in the usual way either like being sent to call the police in the middle of the night at the payphone around the corner after whoever it was got a little too drunk. Not that any of them were ever sober to begin with. I don’t even remember why he did it. All I remember is yelling and then he pulled out his switchblade, went into our bedroom, and literally cut the tires on all our bikes.

I don’t think it really mattered much anyway as shortly after that we ended up having to leave most everything again. It’s hard to keep the order straight though when you moved so often. That was when we were living in the building with the two trees out front. When my mother and whoever had decided, one Friday, to simply run off to Reno for the weekend and get married. Without telling anyone. Let alone her own children who were in school at the time. I think it was the tire slasher she married.

I’m just rambling at this point.


I feel so empty all the time. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost so much over the years. I’ve lost so many years. All of it just feels like one endless slog towards where I can finally begin… beginning, but I never seem to get there. I just slog and slog and slog and never get anywhere. I really don’t think people realize just how much I don’t feel like I’m “allowed” to be or do anything. The thing is, I don’t have the faintest clue who I’m waiting for to give me permission. I know it’s supposed to be me. I mean, it has to be. Right?

Beyond that, I hate me. I mean I really, really hate me. I’m soft and weak and pitiful. My emotions run rampant. My fears corral me. I’m the bull in the china shop stomping on the shattered remnants of whatever I was supposed to be if I hadn’t been born me. If I hadn’t been.

Why am I?

I never had any support growing up. Well, a few teachers tried to support me but there wasn’t much they could do when we were constantly moving. It was rare for me to spend an entire year at one school. Outside of that though, no one in my family supported me. To my mother I was a walking welfare check, at least it very often felt like that. To my siblings, the ones I grew up with anyway, I was an easy target because I was quiet and meek. I feel like I was cheated of so much. Now, I don’t really care. Why should I? I Just want to be left alone.

I really don’t know how to connect with people. I’ve never really felt close to anyone. People are like inscrutable aliens to me. I’ve learned to read emotions and I tend to be deeply empathetic but none of it feels right to me. It feels like I’m faking all of it. Like my tendency to mimic people when someone is talking to me. I don’t mean to but I’ll slowly begin to copy the way they talk, act, move. I’ve even gone so far as to imitate accents. It’s all subconscious. I’m not sure where that comes from other than my fear of being found out as “different”.

My teachers often told me I was special. Now, I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Being special means you’re different. Being different means people notice you. When people notice you, bad things happen. At least, that’s been my experience. Get a good grade on a test. The teacher compliments you. The other students resent you. Win a pointless student award. Same thing happens. It goes on like that. Do anything that garners attention and you’re dog food.

I just realized that I talk a lot about my childhood. I don’t talk very much about myself after, say, my mid 20s even though I’m now in my 40s. There’s a reason for that. Not much has happened since then. I’ve kept my head down and out of sight. Don’t really go anywhere and don’t really do anything. It’s been quiet. So quiet. Quiet enough to ruminate. On things and in ways that-.

Don’t want to be here anymore. Feel like I’m being crushed by my own existence. Every second that passes adding untold pressure. Tick… Hate me. Tock… HATE ME! Tick… Useless. Tock… Pointless. Tick… Empty. Tock… Trash. Tick… Go away. Tock… GO AWAY! Tick… You’re not needed. Tock… You’re not wanted. Tick… Just disappear. Tock… It would be better if you had never been born. Tick… Everything wrong is your fault. Tock… Everything wrong is because of you.


What happened?

Not much. Robert blew another $50 or so after telling me that he was through. That it was over. That he was never doing it again… For the millionth time. Yesterday he came out and woke me up by sitting on the foot of my bed to tell me for the millionth-and-first time that it was over, etc. Now I’m just waiting to see how much money he blows this time.

This all makes me sound like one of those housewives you see in those Made for Lifetime movies that won’t leave their abusive husbands, and in a lot of ways, I am I guess. I learned it from my mother and her disastrous string of what you could generously refer to as “relationships” that she went through while I was growing up. Most were definitely alcoholics. All were violent in one way or another.

And yet my mother would break up with them, very publicly from time to time, involving police occasionally or whatnot, and then get back together with them as if nothing had ever happened. These weren’t relationships that she just fell into either, as happened with me and Robert, she went out looking for them. She met most of them at the Salvation Army or “The Sally” as was the local slang term for it. As a kid, I never understood why we always seemed to be down there. It was because she was on the lookout for her next fuck.

I remember Mike the best. He was one of her last relationships and they were actually “together” for quite a while. I don’t remember when they met but I remember when we were living in the house. The one where we left everything two days into summer vacation and fled to the woman’s shelter that didn’t want to take me because a 12 year old boy was too threatening for the other women. From there we moved in with my sister and then it was hotels after that. And lo and behold, Mike also returned.

My mother had literally left everything behind, including our bikes which were everything to us kids, in order to “escape” a violent situation so that we could go from living in an actual house (something that was extremely rare for us) to ping-ponging between trashy hotels, while getting back together with the guy that kicked all this off because she was supposedly trying to get away from him.

Yeah… “Mike” went on for years. I remember we were living at this one hotel and she had decided to “leave” him again. We were all packed up in the station wagon while she was talking to the manager at the front office. All of a sudden she just took off like rocket. I guess she had literally slammed her foot down on the gas because she had seen Mike and was trying to get away from him. Why, I don’t know. They got back together again shortly after that.

Eventually Mike seemed to go away. Thing is, I don’t remember when. There were so many false endings with him that I simply stopped caring to keep track. I can’t remember exactly but I think she might have even married him at one point? I don’t know. Really. But I do know that by the time I started high school he was gone for good.

After that it was mostly one-night-stands. My mother would have guys over and we’d have to hide out in our rooms while they made out or had sex in the living room. There weren’t any other live-in “boyfriends” that I can recall.

Things were quiet after that. Not good, but quiet. At least I wasn’t being woken up by a screaming match in the middle of the night and being sent out to call 911.

Beyond the quiet, it didn’t really feel that much different. My mother’s boyfriends were her boyfriends. Even with living with them for years and her even marrying some of them they would always remain simply her boyfriends. None of them seemed to give a damn about us kids, other than when they wanted another beer. There was no attempt to bond or even interact at all really. Looking back on it the situation was really strange. You married a woman with three kids but had no interest in even getting to know them?


I know one of the issues in my life is that I never had a father and I’ve been looking for something to fill that gap in myself. Honestly, I never had a mother either but that’s for a different discussion. I’ve gone so far as to actually look up my biological father. Well, at least I think it’s him. It’s so exhausting being alone and sometimes I really want to try to reach out and make contact with him if just so I can have some kind of family in my life.

And then I remember that this man married my mother, had two sons with her, and then vanished into the either never to be seen again. I don’t even remember seeing any pictures of him in the family photo albums. Before they got lost during one of our many, many moves anyway. How insane must he have been to do that? I mean, he married my mother. And would he even want to hear from me if I did try to contact him? I don’t think I could take the rejection. I already hate myself enough as it is. To learn that neither of my parents even wanted me.

When I was in my early 20s’ my mother actually came to me and told me that I had ruined her life. That everything bad that had ever happened to her was because of me. I had driven all of her husbands and boyfriends away and it was because of me that she was alone. According to her, I was completely out of control and she told me that she was going to go out and find some guy to move in just so he could kick my ass. My ass that was almost always locked in my room quietly on my computer because my anxiety and depression wouldn’t allow me to do anything more. She never did it of course, but it still hurts me that she actually blamed me for her life and decisions. Even for decisions from when I was little.

Robert said the same thing to me yesterday. He was angry. I was angry. There was yelling. Doors were slamming. I stomped on a bag of chips and threw them at him. He threw a roll of paper towels at me. Both of us were on edge and stressed out. And then he told me that I had ruined his life. Not that I was ruining his life by trying to get him to stop doing what he was doing, but that I had already (as in past tense) ruined it.

We’ve discussed my mother at length and the terrible things that she said, let alone did, to me over the years. He knew that she blamed me for her life. And then to hear him say the same thing? I dunno. It really, really hurt me to hear him say that. He seems to be trying to go back on it today though. Like he’s trying to make up for it without actually saying anything about it. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Right now I’m laying in bed eating Wintergreen Life Savers and enjoying slightly low blood sugar.

And… now I’m crashing.


Here we go.

It looks like it’s actually going to happen. My relation ship with Robert is over and we’re going to go our separate ways. It’s going to fuck a lot of people, including myself (my credit especially), but apparently this is the way he wants things to go down. I can’t get any other avenue out of him. I asked him directly if all he wanted to do now was lay in bed, smoke meth, and masturbate and all I got in return was an affirmative nod. There’s nothing left here for me if he’s unwilling to put any effort in himself. Not even superficially.

Oh god this is actually happening.

I’m 41 now, almost 42. I’ve been with Robert since I was 30. Before that I was with my family. Always with family. I got away from them when I was 29. Not long before I turned 30. I ended up at a room and board in a co-dependent relationship with the owner literally the day after I got away from my family. Less than a year later, I met Robert.

What am I supposed to do here? I can barely type. My head is so fuzzy. I’m spending more time correcting errors than I am actually writing. Everything is scary. I feel so lost and alone. Someone needs to tell me what to do. I can’t make decisions. They say people have two reactions to fear: Fight or Flight. That’s wrong. There are three: Fight, Flight, and Freeze. I tend to freeze. Oh I flee often as well (fight is simply not a possibility for me) but when it comes to decisions freeze is my best friend. I just… stop.

I don’t want to think about this anymore. Something else has been running around in my head. When I was in junior high or middle school or whatever people want to call it, I kept being placed in remedial classes. It wasn’t because I couldn’t do the work, because I could. It was because of my excessive absenteeism. So I would be put in remedial Math or English or Science or whatever, spend a few weeks there, be evaluated by the teacher and wow the other students by breezing through the brain-dead easy class work, be told I shouldn’t be in said remedial class, be sent back to regular class, and finally a few months later be sent back to said remedial class to begin the cycle over again.

Most of my self-esteem vanished during this period. Not only was my school confusingly telling me that I was unworthy then worthy then unworthy again but my mother began to tell me that I was damaged, that I was a retard, and that the best job I could hope for was working for the county in a “special” job picking up trash on the side of the freeway. She actually went so far as to contact such a program for me. What do you think that does to someone during their formative years? I went from being a straight A student in elementary school to hoping I could get a county job with all the other retards.

I knew I wouldn’t fit in there ether. I knew I wasn’t slow or retarded. It was just that my anxiety and depression, which I didn’t even know existed at the time, had made it nearly impossible for me to function. I wasn’t behind the other students. Often I was excelling and far beyond most of them. I just couldn’t show it in the environment I was expected to.

The thing is, I enjoyed being in the remedial classes. I enjoyed not having pressure on me to perform but when I did was showered with praise for it rather than simply treated as if it were expected. Often we had access to resources that I would have never had access to in regular classes, like being able to use a computer daily or being able to actually interact with the teacher because there was only a handful of other students in the class. In total I think there were maybe nine of us? It let use have a much more intimate learning experience than I was ever privy to in regular classes. If I had been more cunning, I would have continued to under-perform so I could have continued to remain in said classes. But, being the idiot and fearful perfectionist that I am, I didn’t and had to say good-bye to said class after a few weeks before being returned a few months later for another vacation.

I’ve told people before and I know they’ve never really believed me but I wish I was slow. I wish I was oblivious. I wish my mother had gotten me that job with the county picking up trash on the side of the freeway. I don’t need money or things. I need peace and quite.

This world. It screams. It screams in my head relentlessly. Often all I can hear is the shrill cacophony of shrieks, my heartbeat pounding out a background rhythm. It makes me nauseous, dizzy. I can’t keep the fear at bay. Run! It screams. Run away! Far away! Hide! But I can’t run. There’s nowhere to go. My feet, glued to the ground. My arms begin to tingle. My breathing, quick and shallow. I can feel my body covered in sweat. My skin feels so tight. I’m going to burst at any moment. I have to. I have to do something.

And then the high-school nurse called an ambulance on me because she thought I was having a heart-attack leading me to be pretty much exiled from that school. Oh, I still went to class… sometimes, but to the staff I was persona non grata no matter the situation.

Everything’s jumbled in my head. I can’t focus. What was I talking about? I can’t remember what I was going to type. Sleep is calling. What is it? About 6:00 pm? Well, I didn’t fall asleep until like 4:30 am and was up by like 9:00 am so I probably should let my body sleep if it’s telling me to.

I go away now.

There’s a hole in my heart.

Not literally. Metaphorically. I know it’s there though. I can feel it. I can feel myself spilling out. Sometimes it’s a small trickle. Other times it’s a raging cataract. I can’t control it. When, where, how much. It’s all or nothing. All or nothing. Nothing.

Everything seems to be falling apart around me. I can’t help him. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to help him. It’s all falling apart. It’s all going away. What am I going to do? What’s going to happen to me? I feel so selfish but so lost. What can I do?

A friend is moving in May because she’s unhappy with her current living arrangements. She knows about what has been going on here and has offered to be roommates with me. I need to give her a definitive answer by March and I just don’t know what to do.

Robert just got out of the hospital for the second time in as many weeks. The first time was for psych issues. The second was for actual health issues. His lungs. They thought part of one of them had collapsed. It turned out to be fluid, which is better but not by much. He has a heart issue that is going to kill him if he doesn’t deal with it and the doctors have told him pointblank that the drugs he’s using are a major contributor. He gets out of the hospital on Saturday filled with platitudes of how things are going to be different this time. Sunday evening he goes out and buys again. A little over 24 hours later and he’s using again.

I can’t help him.

There is literally nothing that I can do.

I’ve lost him.

I’m still trapped though. There are mitigating circumstances going on here that require I remain in my current situation else I bring pain and suffering to not only myself and Robert but to other innocent parties as well. Including the friend who offered to be my roommate. She has told me that she knows and she’ll figure out a way to deal with it and that she realizes that it’s not my fault but still… Hurting people huts me so much. I would rather continue to stay where I am than to hurt others. I’ve been the whipping boy all my life as it is. Why stop now?

But… Is it healthy for me? Is it the right thing to do? I don’t want to hurt anyone and yet it seems like no matter what I do, someone is going to get hurt. My actions, and inaction, will hurt someone somewhere in some way. To me, that is simply unacceptable. I can’t see a way out of this situation though. Do I hurt everyone by leaving and moving in with my friend? Or do I stay and hurt Robert and myself by continuing to enable his destructive behavior?


My brain is burning. I can feel the heat behind my eyes pushing. I just want to curl up into a ball and disappear. I want to go away. I want to not be here.

Oh fuck! I’m thinking about things that I know I shouldn’t be thinking about. I’m being pushed deeper into myself. I don’t know if I can climb out of this hole. I don’t know if I want to.

Would it be better if I was simply gone?

I need to stop the hurt.

Need to stop.

Need to…


I’m alone again.

I ended it with Robert. Well, as much as I can end it right now. I moved almost all my stuff into the living room and told him we’re through. Of course he was high at the time, still is, so the real question is going to be how he reacts when he comes down. I’m really worried what he’s going to do.

In the mean time I’m laying in bed smelling a chocolate chip cupcake rather than going to my DBT group like I’m supposed to. I’m trying to get myself used to smelling junk food instead of gorging myself on it. Two reasons for that: One, I really need to get my weight under control. Being 290 pounds is extremely unhealthy and just not good at all for me. And two, I had a gorge fest day before yesterday and it took me through last night to get my blood sugar back under control even without eating again. Yep, no food for over 24 hours and my sugar wouldn’t drop below 190 even with several large shots of insulin. I can’t keep doing this. I just can’t. I’m killing myself. Which is why I’m currently smelling a chocolate chip cupcake rather than eating it even though my blood sugar is a bit lower than it should be right now.

As for my DBT group… That’s anxiety keeping me from going to that. I missed the last two weeks (three now) and I feel so bad about it that I just can’t go back. I’m going to have to talk with my services coordinator about it and see if I can try again some other time. When I get like this it’s near impossible for me to function and trying to force myself causes me to have panic attacks. It’s the feeling of failure that does it. I know I’m bad and I know that everyone else knows I’m bad and being comforted and told it’s okay only makes it worse because then I know that everyone really, really knows how bad I am. It’s a catch-22 that I can’t seem to get out of no matter how hard I try. The only way I can is to not mess up in the first place but that never happens so… Yeah.

I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of my wants. My desires. I know what I want to be, who I want to be, I just don’t know what to do to get there. It’s like I’m going around in circles constantly. I start to try and then something, no matter how minuscule, goes wrong and then I have to punish myself. And then I eat until I don’t feel the pain anymore. It’s so much worse when someone else is involved because not only did I fail myself but I failed them as well and now they know just how much of a loser and failure I really am. It hurts so much being exposed like that. Letting someone down like that. Knowing that I could have done better. Knowing that I should have done better.

Sleep. I’m going to get some more sleep. I didn’t get all that much last night what with my anxiety and all. My coordinator is coming for a home visit tomorrow. I’ll talk to her about all of this then. See what she has to say. If there’s something she can think of to help me break out of this never ending cycle of self hatred and punishment.

Everyone is always telling me that I don’t have to be perfect but I know that’s not true. I have to be. I just have to. It’s the only way I know how to feel comfortable in my own skin. I already hate myself. I need to know that someone else, anyone else, doesn’t. And in order to know that for certain, I have to live up to my own impossible expectations of myself for them. I have to be the best me. I have to be the greatest me. I have to be more for them than I’ve ever been able to be for myself in my entire life.

I have to be perfect.

And they can never know how imperfect I really am.


Okay. Saw my podiatrist. She told me that the broken bone in my foot is broken no more and that the diabetic ulcer on the bottom of same said foot has healed as well. In other words: I’M FREE!

But actually, no.

The broken bone in my foot ended up healing at a slight upward angle. That’s what actually caused the ulcer in the first place. Because it’s angled up, the bone next to it, the fourth bone, is pressing down harder than it should and it’s going to continue to cause me issues, including regular ulcers.

What’s the plan to deal with that? Well, right now I’m supposed to be using a soft felt ring in my shoes in order to support the area that is being effected. That’s for the short term. In the long term, she’s sent out a referral for me to an orthopedic surgeon. They’re going to purposefully break the fourth bone and angle it so that it matches the angle of the fifth bone.

Why not simply do that with the fifth bone, you ask? Because, the angle of the fifth bone now matches the angle of all the other bones in my foot so it’s only the fourth bone that is out of sync. Yes, the fourth and fifth bones in my foot were straight while the rest were slightly angled. Now only the fourth bone is straight and it would be easier to break and angle that bone than to try to fix the rest of them.

And to top off that shit sundae, apparently I may eventually need the same surgery on my right foot. She told me it was nothing that I had done or could control. It was simply the way that I had been made. I don’t know who made me but they obviously had no idea what they were doing.

So now I’m waiting to hear from the surgeon while I have regular visits with the podiatrist in order to keep close tabs on the bottom of my foot to ensure that the ulcer doesn’t flair up or become a bigger issue than it already has been.

This is my life now.

Waiting for whatever new disaster is going to befall my foot, or hell even feet at this point. I’m half waiting for someone to simply walk up with a machete and hack the damn things off.

I mean, at what point do I get to give up? When do I get to say enough is enough and simply refuse to play along any longer with whatever this is that someone somewhere in their diseased and twisted mind would consider to be anything resembling a life? I really, really don’t want to play this game any more. It isn’t fun. It isn’t interesting. It’s not motivating or teaching me anything. At best I’m learning even more not to care. Why should I when whenever I try to do anything to better myself reality steps in and shuts me down with a big old “NO”.

Come December 4th it will have been exactly one year since this whole thing got started and something tells me it’s going to still be going on at that point. Two more months for it to have literally been a whole year. A whole GODDAMN MOTHER FUCKING YEAR!


I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I don’t know what I can do.

What’s the point of any of it.


I’ve got a throbbing headache right now. I seem to have one every morning these days. I’m assuming it’s stress related. I’m very susceptible to stress. Considering what’s been going on around here recently I should be on the floor trying to smash my skull in with a hammer just for a few seconds of peace.

Robert is better. I think he was still going through his psychotic episode when he did whatever it was that he thought he was doing. A big warning to me that I need to keep a better eye on him, and that he really, really needs to start seeing this therapist. I can’t save him from himself. I can barely manage to hold my own insanity together. I need to see him actually trying. Outside of that, I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Got my x-rays done. You literally cannot see the break in the bone any longer. When you zoom way out and look at it you can see a slight color change in the area but beyond that, and some remaining bone callus, you’d never guess I’d have broken it at all. So, looks like I’ll be able to start doing all those things I’ve been unable to do previously because I couldn’t walk on my foot. All those things over the past, almost year. Yep. All those things. Can totally do them now. Getting up and standing and walking? No longer a barrier. Not any more. Nothing stopping me. No limitations. Can totally do whatever I want.

I ain’t gonna do shit.

Not right away anyway. I’m in a different place than I was last year, both physically and psychologically. I’m going through a lot of things with Robert and my therapist now, something that wasn’t an issue back then. Well, that’s not true. They were totally issues, have been for years and my entire life respectively, but I was keeping them either at arms length or deeply buried… respectively, again. And those are just my relationship and psychological issues. Physically I’m in a much worse place now. I used to be able to walk all over the place, with issue of course, but I could do it. Now, walking a few blocks is murder on me. So I need to get back into better shape before I can get my self into better shape. Why does this all feel like some sort of game of whack-a-mole?

Been feeling a lot less motivated and a lot more lost. I currently no longer have a therapist. The one I was being transferred to doesn’t have space for me. As such, I’m in a holding pattern until something can be done about it. Either I get transferred to someone else or a slot opens up. I don’t begrudge them any of this. They have so many patients and receive so little funding to begin with. It’s just some of the worst timing possible for me personally.

Okay, I’m done for now. There are things swimming around in my head that I shouldn’t say. Can’t say. I just never got my peopling handbook. I didn’t lose it. It wasn’t stolen. I simply never got it.

I’m going to go bury my emotions with food before they overwhelm me. Overwhelm me. Overwhelm me.

There is no me.

I’m scared

Robert literally just… I don’t know. He said “I’m sorry,” then reached over and grabbed a bottle of pills off the table, opened it, and then tried to dump it down his throat. I managed to stop him and he didn’t really resist but still. I don’t think there would have been any real long term ramifications (I don’t think that particular med was all that dangerous), I’m just worried out of my skull now.

He’s sleeping I guess. Told me the voices in his head stopped talking after whatever he was trying to do and laid down.

I really don’t know what to do now.