Warning drama follows: Argh a nice morning ruined by my poor choices. OK so I was already having a bad day and I guess the lesson is that when I am tired, when I have been disturbed in the night by my lovely brain and its propensity for freakish sideshows (my dreams are permeated with feces, what the hell anyway), that my decision making is definitely narrowed in it's vision of what is wise and what is, clearly, not. A good example of when my desire to fix things should be held firmly in check as it clearly fogs my assessment of situations. AKA back the fuck off.
I know I am trying to learn to be kind to myself, but all I want to do right now is swear and stuff (i was going to say shit as a kind of colloquialism but given my dreams perhaps not the best word).
I am so pissed that i am not doing better, that I remain immersed in depression particularly, true there has been improvement but not to the extent that I am wanting, the extent to which marks health, to me.
Primal scream therapy and an extended round of beating on drums or cutting wood or getting out the old bow saw and cutting big logs and just exhausting this rage I feel inside. ARGH.
I am shaking probably the caffeine isn't helping and so since i haven't been writing I decided to write cause it's like lancing a wound or draining a wound of all it's infected bits. Lots of pus. lots.
Had a really really great talk with a good friend last might, one who really gets it and helps to remind me that I have experienced some difficulties, that the work we did was not your usual caseload and thus must not be measured by the usual standards of what constitutes a normal caseload. What we dealt with, generally on a daily basis, crisis after crisis, threats to people threats to ourselves (when I got my first death threat my boss and I laughed about it, I felt proud like I was finally in "the club"). Trying to ascribe normalcy to situations beyond imagination, beyond "life at home". Trying to find some meaning some measure of what you're doing is helping in a morass of helplessness, what if the recruitment center told you the truth what if the posters told you, showed you what you could really expect. Crazy-making, situations that are all piss and blood and shit in every way, like the pool of money, the scraps of hope almost but not quite entirely obscured by the filth of people doing to people
Post from 2011 - Who am I if I'm not suicidal? What is life like? Where am I uncomfortable because I'm not suicidal? It feels anxiously flat, a nervous nothingness So I feel ...
11 months ago