Navigation

* Profile
* New
* Old
* First
* Random

Credit

* Host
* Design

Well,
Rape me sideways.

What a night. Depressed, disgusted, angry. Over and over. I am not gunna sleep.

You know, it's funny. In 2006 I would have been thrilled if someone had pegged me with a handful of diagnosis-acronyms. I still want an explanation for why I suck so hard. Back then, I wanted to know WHY; why me, why am I like this. Now I want to be anything that's not me.

I've spent the last two months with acronyms tossed at me like crazy. Diagnosis theories. Hell, my shrink pretty much disowned me, so I'm on my own on this.

Sometimes it's really bad when Cherish and I are crazy-ing at each other. This night alone, she's worried I'm bipolar, PSTD, DID, "you might have that PMS disorder...that i fucking cant remember what its called", MPD...

What the fuck am I going to tell Dr. Y, when I try to get ahold of him at opening? "Hi, my schizophrenic friend and I think that I'm fucking nuts. Halp?"

Bill's personal theory of the night is that my anti-depressant (Effexor) is nixing my memory, therefore adding to the goldfish effect. That's about the most logical explanation I can land for this phenomena.

The depression itself, as always, I think is situational. I'm currently distant from pretty much every motherfucker I know, or having issues approaching them.

I need a fucking councellor. Or a shrink who will counsel me. Or a self-help book not written by the makers of The Secret. Fuuuuck.

You Missed:

*DISCLAIMER
* WHO TF IS ALL THIS??!
* INTRO, 2
* NAQ

Backlog:

Circa 2010