april 22nd

12:08pm

sometimes i get these stupid impulses. like today, when i was washing my hands after my lunch-break. i was irritated because the provided soap dries out my fingers, specifically the tops, and i considered if i just quit eating for a while. if i entirely quit eating would anyone notice? would i lose weight? could i get over the irritation and the light-headedness and the need? probably not, but i could try for a day. why? no reason. for acting out, i suppose.

when i was walking back from my car i thought about the differences between my living and dying. if i were to die there would be a handful of negatives that would effect others. if i lived i would have the onslaught of current negatives and the possibility of future positives. living seems selfish of them, but dying is selfish of me. my parents, my brother, my cats. i sighed very dramatically when i entered the lobby because i knew it didn’t matter and thinking about it doesn’t help and i’m locked in, for whatever reason. i recall being a pre-teen when i realized that i’d always have these thoughts, that i would perpetually weigh them. i couldn’t figure if that was normal or not.

it is normal, to an extent. what’s abnormal is the rate of occurrence. i’m severely depressed.

so let me think of some good things. i’ll be published soon, and paid. i have a few consistent online presences who do seem to like me. [M] and i will go hiking at some point. Ilya and Anri and Alvi are home right now, comfortable and happy. rent is paid, internet and phone and

i’ve started to cry again. i miss my MawMaw. i’m not sure why that hit just now. i did not talk to her enough. i was so gone growing up, so in my head and upset and wrong, and i just didn’t call her. she called me sometimes. she was such a kind and patient woman. she had something figured out, and i wish i could ask her of that now. i don’t have Lady anymore either.

good things. my bills are paid. work gave to me a peace lily plant and it’s doing well on my porch. my desk plant is thriving. Mom is able to pick up the flea medication so i don’t have to take off to do so.

this isn’t working. my “good things” are just keeping me sad. i know i sound ungrateful, but i’m not as alive as i should be. i’m no longer able to write things such as “my partner made breakfast this morning” or “i met a new friend at this event last night” or “the air outside brought to me a sense of wellbeing”.

love is the remedy, but i am too guarded with the precious amount i have left. i’m too reluctant to reach into the reserve, to open it for more. that’s a ridiculous fact and it makes me stupid.

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Bram Stoker’s handwriting was pretty bad.