promeny

I've kind of gone through the ringer over the past day or so.

Yesterday noon I was in a fugue of sorts, and I wandered around the Commons. When I was near the top of the stairs, there was this young, arrogant lady who looked at me while passing, turned her head and said "douche".

That made me very upset. Nothing like that has ever happened to me in real life (at least it was the first time I noticed it), and it just made me very angry and paranoid. I felt like curb-stomping her.

I can't believe how women have devolved over the past couple of years. That simply wouldn't have happened when I was in college; only the nastiest women would have done something like that. But these days, it is like women feel like they have to be nasty to men. There is just so much self-entitlement within younger women these days; it is going to destroy our society.

I had beer last night, because I felt that not having it was causing my mental illness. I felt okay, but it wasn't good for me in the long run. I'm going to stay away from alcohol indefinitely, or at least I'm going to try.

I talked with my friend about it this morning; she told me not to worry about it, and that the person wasn't worth the fuss. She's right, but I just got really florid and upset.

I feel better now, but if something worse happened, I wouldn't know how to deal with it. I'm sort of surprised that due to the fucked up way I was brought up that I haven't hurt somebody yet, to tell the truth.

Whew, that was a ringer of a past couple of days.

I really lost it. I'm sort of ashamed of myself. What was strange was that I didn't see it coming; I usually do. Usually there is this aura or feeling that gradually builds up until I break, but this time it just happened out of the blue.

Well, some things actually did happen, but they were unusual and I brushed them off. Hearing sounds off into the distance, and seeing things that weren't there. From the corner of my eye, I'll eventually see a face. Scary to most, but I'm just used to it.

I'm a piece of garbage. I know that. But I am that way because that is what others want me to be. I try to succeed, and I usually fail in the end. The sad thing is that the few times I have succeeded (getting a M.A., working a strenuous job for 14 months virtually every day of it) it never amounted to anything in the end. I don't know what to make of myself, what to do with myself, or how to do it.

I didn't go to church today. I'm too mentally ill right now for that.

I'm physically sick, too. I have nasal/sinus congestion and a headache. My roommate thought that I was hungover but it doesn't feel like that. I had a little bit of it last night, too.

I have a theory that some mental illnesses or episodes are actually triggered by viruses or other contagious maladies. That would explain why psychotic people such as myself usually get headaches when they have an episode. Most people would think I'm nuts but I really do think it works like that, sometimes.

In any case I'm feeling slightly more sane right now, but just as disorganized. I can't focus or think straight. I really don't know how to be anymore.

The panic and anxiety has severely lessened, but I'm really just as disturbed as ever.

I really wonder if it will get better. People keep on saying that but to be honest it just seems that I'm becoming more and more fucked up. It isn't due to a lack of caring and trying, but ultimately, what can I do?

I don't really trust anyone anymore. My family, my roommate, the few friends that I have. It is like they are picking up on something and they are distancing themselves from me now. I'm used to people stabbing me in the back but that doesn't make it any less painful. I'm just doomed to be alone; I can't get close to anyone.

I don't want to leave the apartment for at least another year but I really wonder if I have to. I wonder if I can get along with people in the long term; it just seems like things fall apart after several months.

I'm just a loser. I have no girl, have no social life, and I barely do anything. I have accomplished almost nothing in my life. And it will probably always be that way.

I really wonder what the point of my life is. I wonder if God simply wants me to suffer. As a result, I have a lot of anger and hate in my heart, especially towards women.

I'm not going to finish the book. It is too weird. I think that Olanzapine has helped me realize that. Instead, I'm going to focus on a different project.

I really wonder when I'm going to stop suffering. I don't deserve this. Right now, all I want to do is hurt people.

God, fuck my life.

In the late afternoon yesterday I took a Sudafed, thinking that it would help my headache and eyes. Turns out, it didn't; it just made me all shaky, scatterbrained, paranoid and anxious. I tried to tough it out at first but when I went to the library and discovered that Sudafed is a stimulant, I motherfucking panicked. Stimulants do not go very well with my brain chemistry at all.

So I went to my former boss's office, who is also my friend. I told her the situation and she agreed to drop me off at the ER. That may have seemed like overkill but I actually killed two birds with one stone. For one, I was told that my vitals were fine, and I got my eyes checked. Turns out, they are normal, with no glaucoma or anything. He ended up diagnosing me with conjunctivitis and gave me a prescription for anti-allergy eye drops and generic anti-anxiety pills.

I couldn't afford the eye drops, but I did get a refund on the Sudafed, so getting the pills was just fine.

Turns out the doctor in the ER knew my grandfather, mother and father; he recognized my name (I'm named after my grandfather). We had a nice talk while he was doing his thing.

I didn't sleep at all last night, and went to the library lounge to use the internet at around five in the morning. That was pleasant enough.

By eight or so I felt like crap. I decided to go back home at around eight thirty and proceeded to lay down on my bed, taking another dose of the pills.

I called my therapist and told her what happened, and she basically told me to tell my psychiatrist. That psychiatrist later told me to stop taking the pills, because they would only make my anxiety worse. Knowing how I was suffering even more after I took it, I believed her.

A lot of bad shit has happened in the past month. I do not have the easiest life in the world. I mean, everyone has problems, and some of it is my fault, but I rarely seem to catch a break.

But it is fine for now. At least I'm scared away from drugs for good, more or less. Although this time was relatively innocent.