Being Responsible

Friday, I had to take my dad to rehab.
WTF
It's been coming for a while, and he needs it, but my mother should have been the one who took him.
She doesn't care though. She's too busy not caring about her children and doing crack.
I can't prove the crack, but I'm pretty sure she is. I can prove weed, though.
Family therapy is going to be a fun surprise for her, when we all gang up on her and tell her how awful of a human being she has been.
I feel sorry for my dad. People don't want to be alcoholics.

Go The F*** To Sleep

While also the title of an incredibly popular pseudo-children's book, this is also what I'm telling my body to do right now. To go the eff to sleep. It's 1:10am. I need to wake up at 7. What? I need my sleep. I'm bone weary, but my brain won't shut up. It's mostly paranoia.
I'm paranoid that a tweet was about me.
I'm paranoid that Mikkel will leave our friendship that I am psychotically dependent upon
The same with Freja
and the same with Ida
However, not with Lucus, which is messed up (poor guy).
I'm paranoid about each of you judging me.
Again, stupid fear. Why should I care. This is an anon blog.
But it's all racing around in my brain and it WON'T.SHUT.UP
I don't know if you know this, but many people are keenly aware of the fact that they are paranoid. It's an impossible cycle to break.
Well of course it's possible, people do it, but you know what I'm saying.
It's goddamn hard is what I'm saying.
Also, this? This one line at a time thing?
Yeah, this is basically how I think.
This is how it looks in my head.
Personally, I think Hemingway would have married me.

I'm writing to keep myself alive.
I don't mean that in some metaphorical sense. I mean I need an activity that doesn't involve cutting myself, burning myself, drinking, or taking large doses of medications.

This blog is the vainest of any kind of blog. It's the blog of someone who knows they have a problem (several problems, actually) and knows the solutions that society is offering her - and rejects them.

I'm starting this blog at 6:13am because I'm still itchy from my overdose of oxycodon. So I haven't been able to sleep all night.

I have a lot of little DSM numbers after my name.

I can't tell you when any of these started to manifest. I know I've always been odd or bizarre. I can tell you the first time that I acted. When I was 15, I drank my first half bottle of Nyquil. I spent the next day at school a zombie. I couldn't feel a think and it was amazing. It wasn't scary. It didn't feel bad. It was amazing. I wasn't crying, I was too numb to cry. Eventually the other behaviors were added. But that was the beginning.
Maybe with this blog we'll see an end. Maybe not.