Entering The Fog…
September and October are shitty months. They shouldn’t be shitty but I tend to live in the shitty, embrace the shitty and when I’m tired of feeling the shitty I get out of it. It’s how I’ve always dealt with my problems. The problem is I don’t tell anyone whats going on.
Back in the day I’d rant and rave about my emotions and dramas. These days I rather write and stay silent. I don’t want to be that person anymore that just demanded attention like that. I can see myself going out to have fun but tell my bf “I have a headache” just to cry myself to sleep. That’s my MO.
Yeah yeah yeah I should see a therapist.
Like I’ve said so many times, I grew up with specialists up my asshole all through k-12. As an adult I rather not. If I see a therapist I’ll be honest about everything and then will have to hear some bullshit about some diagnoses that don’t fit me. I’m not crazy. I take my meds and have taken so many and at many dosages and my experiences don’t fucking change. I’m still talking to dead people and Erik continues to save my ads.
Today I nearly got caught fucking around. I was supposed to do laundry, clean up the litter boxes and yadda yadda while my bf was at work. Nope. I got stoned 2x and got sucked into a Netflix show. Erik said my bf was almost home, I scrambled to make it look like I wasn’t a bum and sure enough. In 2 minutes he walks in the door. Thank you Erik. He saves the day again. He does this alot.
I’m going to try to not think about the next couple of months. It didn’t bother me until 2019. I think because I was reliving the events of 2009 all while being homeless. It the was worst year of my life. 2017 and 18 were easy.
