Yep, I'm drunk on cheap vodka and diet Dr Pepper as well being high in some sort of way from my meds that have been mixed with the booze. I'm beginning to have a headache from thinking. Thinking about my stupid pitiful day to day life, thinking what's the point in blogging about it, recording it, all that shit. I took my seroquel early for the evening just to see how fucked up I'd get and what it would be like.
I just went outside downstairs to the proper place to smoke after my spouse declined my offer to come with. I thought 'what an asshole'. Too lazy to walk down the stairs and come back up. Instead, he waiting for a while, had a smoke out on the deck, then went and put on the stupid movie "Ted". I might as well stick my fucking head in the toilet and try to flush it down over and over again. So now, I'm being forced to watch the Ted movie because my spouse put it in the DVD player. I won't be watching it of course, just forced to listen to it in the background.
It was no big deal going outside and down the back stairs as there were only a few people passing by that were probably half my age and half dressed as well. I enjoyed my smoke alone and was glad that my spouse wasn't standing there smoking, with his goddamned iphone in his free hand. That is so cuntish and rude, to me, but there's nothing I can say or do to get him to understand that fact. It fucking sucks, so I'm kind of glad that he said he wouldn'tust join me for a smoke.
My heart is broken and can't wait to go to bed in my nightie, and read a bit on my Kindle. That usually puts me to sleep pretty quickly. I'll have to add clonopin to that mess to make reality go away more quickly. My heart is certainly broken, and has been for a long time. My spouse seems to be more into watching mind-numbing tv rather than coming to bed for getting it on or even just talking about it. I almost wish I had a male friend that knew my circumstances, and that I could at least try and fuck. All I heard about from the spouse today was comments about going to England for a visit and moving into a bigger place. That's all fine and dandy if you have the money, don't have a cat, and don't have a lot of extra money coming in. Maybe he thinks I'm going to get a job along the way somewhere?
Fuck. I don't like this reality anymore. It's all gone to hell. I just want to sleep it off and wake up to see he's not here, however terrible that sounds.
I honestly do not know how much more of this I can stand, plus his damn birthday is coming up in the middle of August. I wanna buy him a Louisville Slugger and take a good, hard swing to his head. He just doesn't seem to care or get it. He just doesn't seem to want to care anymore.
Fuck everything. FTW. I just want water, my pills, and to sleep this all away, like it never happened.
WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE
This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...
This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.