Showing posts with label manic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label manic. Show all posts
Saturday, August 01, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
When You See My Face I Hope it Gives You Hell!!
Right now, I’m drinking. Not only am I drinking, but I’m a little fucking drunk. Hey! It’s legal! I would drink some more, but I’m out, and I’m damn straight not rolling to the store for more. Plus, all I can get at this time of the day is the 3-point piss water. Nasty shit...bout time to make a trip to Kansas!!
Also, Officer Asshole would love to bust me for that one, and tonight would not be a good night for that type of encounter. I’m in this fucked up mood where I feel like I want to slice the heads off every stupid motherfucker I meet. I could cuss someone out in about 3 seconds flat, which would probably led to a tasering now days. I'm just in a pissed off at the world kind of mood.
Maybe it’s because I’m not sleeping much. I only got about 4 hours last night. I take forever to fall asleep, then I wake up early and can’t seem to close my eyes again. That’s mostly why I’m drinking tonight. I’m hoping the alcohol will help me sleep a little longer. If I do get up early, I’m just going to get out and maybe go for a long walk at some park...maybe Chandler again.
I’ve slowed up on taking the Phentermine, thinking maybe that’s what is making my insomnia worse, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I’ve gone through this in the past when I wasn’t taken the phentermine, still I have to try something to stop the increasingly louder ringing in the my ears that I experience when I haven‘t slept much.
I also did a little research and found out I’m experiencing what is called a Mixed state. It’s when symptoms of mania and depression meet and collide, which can be very dangerous the way I understand it all. I guess it is, because when I’m just depressed I don’t have the desire or energy to force myself out of bed long enough to bathe, let only have the energy to kill myself. All I do is eat and eat everything sweet, until I fall asleep. With the mania, I’m too busy doing a thousand things to sit still long enough to think about dieing. Roll the two together, and I could be in serious trouble. The mania gives me just enough energy to carry out the plans of my depressed mind.
I’ve been thinking about getting on some sort of medication again, but that means calling my OHCA insurance and finding out what doctor I can see; fight with them on the phone for 30 minutes or more, until I‘m ready to just cut my wrist instead. Then I have to call the doctors office, and hope like hell they are not crazy than me; make the appointment; for probably a month or more from now; (which by then I might feel different or I’ve already killed myself); force myself out of the house to go; sit in the waiting room for an hour at least; sit maybe 5 minutes before some motherfucker thinks he immediately knows my diagnosis; get on some fucked up pill that might make it all worse. It’s all guess work.
Okay, this shit is making me lose my buzz. Fuck all you motherfuckers who don’t like the way I am. Want to do something about it...then you call my insurance company, you set up the appointment, you come pick me up and make sure I arrive at every appointment, then you bring me back home and let me be. Yeah, that’s what I thought. You give a fuck as much as I do. I’ve got to get off here before I start letting my true feelings show.
Pain is delicious
Reminds me that I’m real.
Pain organizes me
Defines the boundaries of where I end
And the world begins.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
If There Was a Line That One Must Not Cross, I Had Reached It
It's 8:15am and since I slept hard last night after finally crashing, I'm up early, so I might as well finish my story....
If there was a line that one must not cross, I had reached it. The more involved my mania became, the quicker that line began to disappear, along with all my discretion and judgment.
I left the Doctors office around 3:30, cramping after the invasive painful procedure, but necessary according to the doctors. The pain, and the pills that I had taken, were doing nothing to slow down my manic mind that was running 10 times its normal speed. The day before I had tried smoking some marijuana to help calm me down, but when I’m that far out there, marijuana, pills, not even drinking Tequila relaxes me. It’s not even necessary for me to take the Phentermine on these days. I already have enough energy, and food just really doesn’t taste that great.
I really didn’t want to head home and have to think about sitting still, so instead of taking highway 75 exit from downtown Tulsa, back to my place, I drove towards Sand Springs to pick up something to eat for the first time that day. I purchased a six inch sub and a diet coke from a Subway near Wal-Mart, and then found a location not far away to park. I sat there trying to eat the tasteless meal, but all my mind could do was envision alternate endings to taking my life.
Recognition of my mania phase is one thing, but doing something about it is another story. When I’m manic my mind has a great many voices and none of them are ever silent. Each one speaking out of turn, interrupting each other with different thoughts and ideas. When I’m talking to other people, I assume these other personalities to fit whatever situation I’m in, which is sometimes good...sometimes not.
That day my voices debated about should I cut myself. Until one voice muddled it way to the surface and came in loud and clear. It shouted for everyone to just shut the fuck up and end this tortuous game that my mind was playing. A part of me knows that cutting will awaken my mind, but it can have many serious consequences. Still, at the moment, the voice that was telling me to cut myself, was the only voice I heard.
As I sat alone, parked in an almost empty field, watching cars drive by, I held a small knife blade to my left arm. My adrenaline began flowing as I thought about the relief that I would soon be feeling. At that moment, a friend called and I sat there for 10 to 15 minutes listening to her talk about what a bad day she was having. I listened, but absorbed very little of the conversation. As soon as she hung up, I went right back to what I was doing. I had to do something to bring me out of the manic phase. I knew if I didn’t do something soon, I would probably find myself locked up somewhere, and that just wasn’t an option.
I took a deep breath and looked up to make sure no one was around or looking in my direction. I immediately spotted a Sand Springs officer driving by, so I quickly hid the knife in my bra, and proceeded to leave the area. I didn’t want to explain to anyone in law enforcement what I was doing. Plus, just two days before, on Tuesday, I was driving around and around in my circles, trying to kill time while I waited on a friend to finish her DUI Classes at the Tulsa fire training center, when I ran into a Sand Springs officer that I met years ago, and knew him from being online at CopLounge. He looked me dead in the face, but I’m still not sure if he recognized me. Since he was working that shift on Tuesday, my mind ran through various images of his face, worried that it was him who was turning around and coming back my direction. I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I nervously pulled out of my parking spot, hoping the officer wasn’t really paying any attention to me, but I was wrong. He quickly swung through the parking area and got right behind me. Adrenaline poured through my chest, and my heart began pumping double its volume of blood.
I could see the officer quickly getting right behind me as he was talking on his radio. He was calling in the tag number, and of course I knew it was going to come back to a friend whose drivers license was still suspended. At the next light, I turned left and he turned on those colorful pretty lights, that would be beautiful, if they weren’t concealing someone who might be completely indifferent to my diagnosis.
When I’m manic there is nothing like having a law enforcement officer near me to embolden a manic mood. I was running a hundred scenarios through my head about what I was going to say to the officer, and I knew when I was surging this much, there was no telling what I would say.
I took a deep breath, opened my window and waited for him to ask for my drivers license and insurance, which I handed over. He asked me what I was doing in the area where I was parked, and I quickly told him I was just making a phone call. After a few more questions, he want back to the patrol car and I could see him calling in my drivers license. I nervously sat waiting, when I looked in the mirror and noticed he was looking down the road for another officer to arrive. That's never a good sign.
It was time to assume another personality. You know the one...the one where everything is fine and this is all just a big misunderstanding. I spoke with the younger officer while the first officer searched my car. When I’m manic and experiencing OCD at the same time, it makes it hard to let others touch my things, or to keep from talking. No one but another manic person could possible understand the agony of enforced silence. I had to finally bite the inside of my mouth to keep from saying too much. Still, I felt like I had given out more information than was necessary.
When the search was complete, I was informed that I was in possession of a Class 4 Drug... the phentermine that I’ve been taking for about 4 months now. I was informed that I could be arrested since I didn’t have them in a prescription bottle, but the officer was nice considering my past drug history and arrest, that he didn't place the cuffs on me, instead he just gave me ticket. For which I was truly thankful. The only part that really sucks is I have to show up in court. I quickly asked if I could bring the prescription in at anytime, but the officer said the Judge required that I appear. Fuck!
Afterwards I drove away, fully relieved that I didn’t have to cut myself just to shock my brain into producing the right chemicals so I could feel normal again. The manic mood ended, leaving me just normal enough to function without much thought. I just hope the depression that I know usually follows, won’t be so bad this time.
If there was a line that one must not cross, I had reached it. The more involved my mania became, the quicker that line began to disappear, along with all my discretion and judgment.
I left the Doctors office around 3:30, cramping after the invasive painful procedure, but necessary according to the doctors. The pain, and the pills that I had taken, were doing nothing to slow down my manic mind that was running 10 times its normal speed. The day before I had tried smoking some marijuana to help calm me down, but when I’m that far out there, marijuana, pills, not even drinking Tequila relaxes me. It’s not even necessary for me to take the Phentermine on these days. I already have enough energy, and food just really doesn’t taste that great.
I really didn’t want to head home and have to think about sitting still, so instead of taking highway 75 exit from downtown Tulsa, back to my place, I drove towards Sand Springs to pick up something to eat for the first time that day. I purchased a six inch sub and a diet coke from a Subway near Wal-Mart, and then found a location not far away to park. I sat there trying to eat the tasteless meal, but all my mind could do was envision alternate endings to taking my life.
Recognition of my mania phase is one thing, but doing something about it is another story. When I’m manic my mind has a great many voices and none of them are ever silent. Each one speaking out of turn, interrupting each other with different thoughts and ideas. When I’m talking to other people, I assume these other personalities to fit whatever situation I’m in, which is sometimes good...sometimes not.
That day my voices debated about should I cut myself. Until one voice muddled it way to the surface and came in loud and clear. It shouted for everyone to just shut the fuck up and end this tortuous game that my mind was playing. A part of me knows that cutting will awaken my mind, but it can have many serious consequences. Still, at the moment, the voice that was telling me to cut myself, was the only voice I heard.
As I sat alone, parked in an almost empty field, watching cars drive by, I held a small knife blade to my left arm. My adrenaline began flowing as I thought about the relief that I would soon be feeling. At that moment, a friend called and I sat there for 10 to 15 minutes listening to her talk about what a bad day she was having. I listened, but absorbed very little of the conversation. As soon as she hung up, I went right back to what I was doing. I had to do something to bring me out of the manic phase. I knew if I didn’t do something soon, I would probably find myself locked up somewhere, and that just wasn’t an option.
I took a deep breath and looked up to make sure no one was around or looking in my direction. I immediately spotted a Sand Springs officer driving by, so I quickly hid the knife in my bra, and proceeded to leave the area. I didn’t want to explain to anyone in law enforcement what I was doing. Plus, just two days before, on Tuesday, I was driving around and around in my circles, trying to kill time while I waited on a friend to finish her DUI Classes at the Tulsa fire training center, when I ran into a Sand Springs officer that I met years ago, and knew him from being online at CopLounge. He looked me dead in the face, but I’m still not sure if he recognized me. Since he was working that shift on Tuesday, my mind ran through various images of his face, worried that it was him who was turning around and coming back my direction. I wasn’t ready for that yet.
I nervously pulled out of my parking spot, hoping the officer wasn’t really paying any attention to me, but I was wrong. He quickly swung through the parking area and got right behind me. Adrenaline poured through my chest, and my heart began pumping double its volume of blood.
I could see the officer quickly getting right behind me as he was talking on his radio. He was calling in the tag number, and of course I knew it was going to come back to a friend whose drivers license was still suspended. At the next light, I turned left and he turned on those colorful pretty lights, that would be beautiful, if they weren’t concealing someone who might be completely indifferent to my diagnosis.
When I’m manic there is nothing like having a law enforcement officer near me to embolden a manic mood. I was running a hundred scenarios through my head about what I was going to say to the officer, and I knew when I was surging this much, there was no telling what I would say.
I took a deep breath, opened my window and waited for him to ask for my drivers license and insurance, which I handed over. He asked me what I was doing in the area where I was parked, and I quickly told him I was just making a phone call. After a few more questions, he want back to the patrol car and I could see him calling in my drivers license. I nervously sat waiting, when I looked in the mirror and noticed he was looking down the road for another officer to arrive. That's never a good sign.
It was time to assume another personality. You know the one...the one where everything is fine and this is all just a big misunderstanding. I spoke with the younger officer while the first officer searched my car. When I’m manic and experiencing OCD at the same time, it makes it hard to let others touch my things, or to keep from talking. No one but another manic person could possible understand the agony of enforced silence. I had to finally bite the inside of my mouth to keep from saying too much. Still, I felt like I had given out more information than was necessary.
When the search was complete, I was informed that I was in possession of a Class 4 Drug... the phentermine that I’ve been taking for about 4 months now. I was informed that I could be arrested since I didn’t have them in a prescription bottle, but the officer was nice considering my past drug history and arrest, that he didn't place the cuffs on me, instead he just gave me ticket. For which I was truly thankful. The only part that really sucks is I have to show up in court. I quickly asked if I could bring the prescription in at anytime, but the officer said the Judge required that I appear. Fuck!
Afterwards I drove away, fully relieved that I didn’t have to cut myself just to shock my brain into producing the right chemicals so I could feel normal again. The manic mood ended, leaving me just normal enough to function without much thought. I just hope the depression that I know usually follows, won’t be so bad this time.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Secretly Suicidal
Mental Illness creates its own vibrant, colorful reality, which is so convincing sometimes, that it is hard to figure out exactly what is real and what is not.
Things have gotten harder to recall the older I get, because my memory seems to be a casualty of my manic depression. When I’m manic, all I remember is the moment, but when I’m depressed, all I remember is the pain. The surrounding details are lost. Hopefully telling my stories is what will keep me alive, even when death is in its most seductive pose.
People always mean well, but they don’t understand that when you’re seriously depressed suicidal ideation can be the only thing that keeps you alive. Just knowing that there’s a way out- even if it’s bloody, permanent - it makes the pain almost bearable for one more day.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the urge to die. Death just sounds like a vacation to me. A place to escape the brutal emotional rollercoaster I'm riding alone. To be somewhere else at times, is what my mind craves. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I’m thrilled to tears to be alive and have what I have. Because I know there are many others who suffer far more than I do, yet continue their quest to live each day to the fullest. At times, I believe the world is wasted on me, and that, I think, is reason enough to die.
This past week I’ve felt like I had a monster living inside of me. I think I’ve been rapid recycling. For awhile I savored every smell, lingered over every sensation, and marveled at every creature comfort. But then the inevitable happens, my brain chemistry shifted and my mood plunged back down to despair. I believe I deserve to suffer, and crave the suffocation black nothingness.
Attempting suicide or serious cutting usually jump starts my brain chemistry. Problem is if I cut myself too deep, that means a trip to the ER, with lots of questions, so I won’t seek assistance. Years ago I was scolded by a doctor for being an ‘attention seeker’ and a nuisance. He was so unsympathetic that he refused to give me anesthesia while stitching up my self-inflicted wound. I was dismissed as someone who was wasting their time and I was not deserving of the same care as other injured people
It was never about the attention- I was just trying to relieve some of the emotional feelings, and I went too far. When I cut, I feel focused, appropriately punished, and a bit more in control of myself. I might even be smiling afterwards, because at that moment, I’m feeling more sane than I’ve ever been in my life. So, I will continue in secret. This wound I know how to heal.
________________
My manic phase got me in trouble again last week. It sent me around and around the corner at least 3 times the posted speed limit, and sooner or later I knew some cop would be waiting for me on the other side, eagerly jingling his handcuffs. Luckily I wasn't arrested, but I do have to make an appearance in Sand Springs Court. Since this post is getting long, I'll finish writing about it tomorrow.
Things have gotten harder to recall the older I get, because my memory seems to be a casualty of my manic depression. When I’m manic, all I remember is the moment, but when I’m depressed, all I remember is the pain. The surrounding details are lost. Hopefully telling my stories is what will keep me alive, even when death is in its most seductive pose.
People always mean well, but they don’t understand that when you’re seriously depressed suicidal ideation can be the only thing that keeps you alive. Just knowing that there’s a way out- even if it’s bloody, permanent - it makes the pain almost bearable for one more day.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the urge to die. Death just sounds like a vacation to me. A place to escape the brutal emotional rollercoaster I'm riding alone. To be somewhere else at times, is what my mind craves. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I’m thrilled to tears to be alive and have what I have. Because I know there are many others who suffer far more than I do, yet continue their quest to live each day to the fullest. At times, I believe the world is wasted on me, and that, I think, is reason enough to die.
This past week I’ve felt like I had a monster living inside of me. I think I’ve been rapid recycling. For awhile I savored every smell, lingered over every sensation, and marveled at every creature comfort. But then the inevitable happens, my brain chemistry shifted and my mood plunged back down to despair. I believe I deserve to suffer, and crave the suffocation black nothingness.
Attempting suicide or serious cutting usually jump starts my brain chemistry. Problem is if I cut myself too deep, that means a trip to the ER, with lots of questions, so I won’t seek assistance. Years ago I was scolded by a doctor for being an ‘attention seeker’ and a nuisance. He was so unsympathetic that he refused to give me anesthesia while stitching up my self-inflicted wound. I was dismissed as someone who was wasting their time and I was not deserving of the same care as other injured people
It was never about the attention- I was just trying to relieve some of the emotional feelings, and I went too far. When I cut, I feel focused, appropriately punished, and a bit more in control of myself. I might even be smiling afterwards, because at that moment, I’m feeling more sane than I’ve ever been in my life. So, I will continue in secret. This wound I know how to heal.
________________
My manic phase got me in trouble again last week. It sent me around and around the corner at least 3 times the posted speed limit, and sooner or later I knew some cop would be waiting for me on the other side, eagerly jingling his handcuffs. Luckily I wasn't arrested, but I do have to make an appearance in Sand Springs Court. Since this post is getting long, I'll finish writing about it tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Ride is Over
I’m moving out of the manic phase into the worst parts of my OCD, with a little extra depression thrown in there just to keep things interesting. Here is a site that explains my OCD better than I can.... http://westsuffolkpsych.homestead.com/Violent_Obsessions.html I think I’ve posted the link before...I don’t really remember. My problem is very similar, but with a slight twist, and I haven’t figured out a way to handle the ‘thoughts’ yet. I just don’t fucking understand why my mind and body has to respond in this way. I’m not doing anything different than I was just a few days ago, but it’s like overnight my moods all changed without warning. My hours of sleep have increased to 9 hours now, but I feel like I want to sleep even more. I’m forcing myself to get out of bed, forcing myself for the past 3 hours to write this down, forcing myself to push through feeling all these voices in the back of my head, run around to the front and out the opening in the front of my face. I have to force myself to be. FUCK!
Feeling closed off from the rest of the world.
Everyone has got to be looking at me like I’m crazy.
I’m trying not to listen to voices around me, but they are all talking so loud.
What really sucks is if the pattern stays the same, the manic feelings leave my body, next comes the OCD, and then for God only fucking knows why, the depression sets in for a long stay.
Hold onto something, this is going to be a bumpy ride.
Feeling closed off from the rest of the world.
Everyone has got to be looking at me like I’m crazy.
I’m trying not to listen to voices around me, but they are all talking so loud.
What really sucks is if the pattern stays the same, the manic feelings leave my body, next comes the OCD, and then for God only fucking knows why, the depression sets in for a long stay.
Hold onto something, this is going to be a bumpy ride.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
We are born naked, wet and hungry. Then things get worse.
Yesterday, I knew the weather was suppose to be nice for today, so I thought I would try to get up early enough to enjoy this enticing Wednesday...alone. To do this I had to go out of town, where hopefully nobody knows who I am, and just relax. I’ve been too manic for the past few days, so I decided it would be a good idea to take a long walk at one of the parks in the town I where I went, maybe do a little writing, take a few pictures, and then afterwards I could get some shopping done at Wal-Mart. Anything to get rid of some of this excess energy.
The weather was little cloudy out, but the temperature was just right for me, not to cold or to hot, just perfect for a long walk. I sat in the car briefly, writing down a few thoughts that were running around in the back of my head. Then I put my writing in one purse, bag, that I carry...extra...things in, like writing material, and other personal items, that I don’t really want to mention. Then I took my main purse, the one with the money in it, and locked it in the trunk before I took off on my walk, leaving the other purse sitting in the passenger seat.
Like a dumb ass, I leave the car unlocked and take off walking, enjoying the walk along the river. I walked around for a little over an hour before returning to the car. The second I sit down in the car, I notice my purse is missing. At first, I just thought maybe I locked it in the trunk with my other purse, so I quickly got out to look. And of course, it wasn’t there, but luckily the one with money was still there.
I thought about calling the police, but whoever took it, didn’t get much, maybe a few dollars that I kept in a pocket. Most of the rest of the stuff was just personal items, that are rather embarrassing to admit that I was carrying. So, I choose not to call the police, and hopefully whoever took it, throws the purse away, so no one else comes across the contents.
Other than that, I had a great day. My knees are hurting a little bit, after the long walk, and the shopping in Wal-Mart, but nothing that a couple ibuprofen won’t take care of in a couple hours. Even though I had a bad experience, my fault though, I was caught slipping, I might go back again tomorrow for another walk. If I don’t go to the same park, I might go to Chandler Park this time. It’s a really nice park, that I haven’t been to since I hurt my knees a few years ago. I miss being able to do the rock jumping, and climbing, but my knees are so bad now, that one wrong turn and I would be fucked. I don’t even want to think about twisting my knee at the bottom of the cliffs and have to call 911for someone to come get my fat ass up out of there. We’ll just avoid that kind of activity for the rest of my life. At my age, even if I did get my knees repaired, I can’t see me being able to do that ever again.
Well, guess I’ve killed enough time, writing down my thoughts, like in a diary, but only instead of it being private, anyone who wishes can dwell into my mind.
I write for the same reason I breathe;
Because if I didn't, I would die.
The weather was little cloudy out, but the temperature was just right for me, not to cold or to hot, just perfect for a long walk. I sat in the car briefly, writing down a few thoughts that were running around in the back of my head. Then I put my writing in one purse, bag, that I carry...extra...things in, like writing material, and other personal items, that I don’t really want to mention. Then I took my main purse, the one with the money in it, and locked it in the trunk before I took off on my walk, leaving the other purse sitting in the passenger seat.
Like a dumb ass, I leave the car unlocked and take off walking, enjoying the walk along the river. I walked around for a little over an hour before returning to the car. The second I sit down in the car, I notice my purse is missing. At first, I just thought maybe I locked it in the trunk with my other purse, so I quickly got out to look. And of course, it wasn’t there, but luckily the one with money was still there.
I thought about calling the police, but whoever took it, didn’t get much, maybe a few dollars that I kept in a pocket. Most of the rest of the stuff was just personal items, that are rather embarrassing to admit that I was carrying. So, I choose not to call the police, and hopefully whoever took it, throws the purse away, so no one else comes across the contents.
Other than that, I had a great day. My knees are hurting a little bit, after the long walk, and the shopping in Wal-Mart, but nothing that a couple ibuprofen won’t take care of in a couple hours. Even though I had a bad experience, my fault though, I was caught slipping, I might go back again tomorrow for another walk. If I don’t go to the same park, I might go to Chandler Park this time. It’s a really nice park, that I haven’t been to since I hurt my knees a few years ago. I miss being able to do the rock jumping, and climbing, but my knees are so bad now, that one wrong turn and I would be fucked. I don’t even want to think about twisting my knee at the bottom of the cliffs and have to call 911for someone to come get my fat ass up out of there. We’ll just avoid that kind of activity for the rest of my life. At my age, even if I did get my knees repaired, I can’t see me being able to do that ever again.
Well, guess I’ve killed enough time, writing down my thoughts, like in a diary, but only instead of it being private, anyone who wishes can dwell into my mind.
I write for the same reason I breathe;
Because if I didn't, I would die.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Feeling Manic
One hundred things are running through my head...I’m thinking faster than my fingers can type. In the past when I got this way I had to take Adderall to help slow me down, but I threw all my pills away, so this time I’m going to let it do it’s own thing. Fuck all the side effects...that shit made me sleepy all the time anyway. I don’t need no stinking sleep...there’s too much shit I want to get done. But more than anything I want to get out of the hell out of the damn house. Let’s go for a long drive, and find a place where I can see how fast my car will go. If I wasn’t so fucking old and fat I would go sky diving...damn that sounds like a lot of fun. How about a little game of tag with law enforcement...maybe I’ll just fuck with some online...I can’t go to jail when I’m in this state...somebody, probably me, is going to get their ass whipped if I fuck with them right now. Still, it could be a lot of fun.
I shook the worm and their hook. Get butt naked please.
Tonight I’m going to do a little drinking, will maybe a lot...I want to finish a couple of bottles I have had for several weeks now. I haven’t had but a couple of hours of sleep, so maybe that will help me sleep. But if I sleep I won’t be able to enjoy finally fucking feeling good. Sometimes it will only last for a few days before I crash again. I’m going to do all I can before I crash and things get left undone.
Spinning dizzy out of control, bouncing, jumping wanting to let go.
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
Only a Trojan horse.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Trunk is rattling.
Take a deep breath and inhale.
Let’s put our ass into it.
I shook the worm and their hook. Get butt naked please.
Tonight I’m going to do a little drinking, will maybe a lot...I want to finish a couple of bottles I have had for several weeks now. I haven’t had but a couple of hours of sleep, so maybe that will help me sleep. But if I sleep I won’t be able to enjoy finally fucking feeling good. Sometimes it will only last for a few days before I crash again. I’m going to do all I can before I crash and things get left undone.
Spinning dizzy out of control, bouncing, jumping wanting to let go.
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
Only a Trojan horse.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Trunk is rattling.
Take a deep breath and inhale.
Let’s put our ass into it.
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