I’ll fill out the dear diary crap later. Right now I am only interested in isolating my feelings so I can resolve them. To this end, I have taken a Xanax to help me think rationally, and have not smoked any pot.
I am in a foul mood. Really foul. Want to wake Doc up and shake him for no real reason right now. Let’s break this down . . . I’m running out of weed, and am going to have to find a way to get myself more. I will no longer let Doc buy it for me because then he controls it and I can’t deal with that stress. Yes, it causes me stress. So, running out. Stress. Worry.
Paranoia, I can’t shake the feeling Doc is out to get me. Even laying there, on the couch, sleeping, I am convinced he is awake and spying on me.
Okay, that right there tells me there is symptom bleed through. That is psychotic. Doc has been nothing but sweet to me the past few days, doing my chores for me, letting me catch up on sleep, giving me time to myself. Not nagging me about food. He is being great. It’s me.
I’m also scared to go out on the patio. That has been building up, but it is at a fever pitch right now. I’m convinced that the people next to us are laughing at me and spying on me. And I really need to go outside. I may go out into the studio and open the garage door for some air. There is no sunshine to be had.
And maybe that’s it, the weather. It has been positively dreary for the last three days, and chilly. But the rain has barely come. And really, if it’s going to look like that out there, it should at least pour rain on us. So, I think that is a factor, too.
I mean, I am truly inconsolable. The FB likes I woke up to this morning didn’t cheer me up, though they usually do. I don’t even want Taco Bell today. I don’t want to eat at all. I want to punish myself for feeling this way. I know, low blood sugar is not the way to feel better.
I sumited another story to themighty.com. I really doubt they will publish this one. It is far more candid and deals with the taboo subject of personal hygiene, or lack thereof in people with schizophrenia. It’s also 100 words too long. But I sent it in anyway, with a few caveats. We’ll see if they can work with it. It would be nice to publish this one because of what it deals with. A stereotype that I live with. A stereotype that I embody.
I have to somehow get Doc to read at least one article on schizophrenia, its symptoms, and effects. He is, to this day, convinced I do many things on purpose to get attention, when they are just part of my illness. And he has yet, in 20 years, to read one article on schizophrenia. He won’t even read my articles, but that is because they are from my point of view. If he would just read one objective, scientific article, maybe one for caregivers . . . I wonder if things would be different at all. Maybe he would lose the persecution complex he has going.
Sure, his mom’s meanness was just that, meanness. Just because she was like that doesn’t mean that I am. And I want him to understand it. I am so tired of taking responsibility for things I have literally no control over.
Something as trivial as starting my day off with a glass of cola instead of a cup of coffee is enough to throw me into an emotional tailspin. And I don’t think the Xanax is working. Now I just have the hiccups. I want Doc to wake up, but I don’t know why. I’m in no shape to talk to him reasonably. I really don’t want to deal with him. I just really don’t want him asleep on the couch. I wish he would go to bed.
So, that’s what I’m at. I hate this keyboard on the laptop, so I’m going to stop here.