I’m quite excited and hyper at 4:32am, but for no reason. Yet I’m also depressed. Like a hyper depression. I’ve been cleaning nonstop. Disinfecting everything. [I’m just a bit aggitated right now, some creep is messaging me on MSN, I keep blocking him but he just makes a new name!] I wish I wasn’t so obsessed with disinfecting and cleaning things all the time. It’s getting in the way of my life. My mother compares me to Monk, on the USA channel, haha. I carry Lysol wipes around. If I could, I’d just disinfect the world every so often and be done with it. Like, nuke the planet with a Lysol bomb. [Omg, this guy just asked for a "discription of my body"!! Wtf!]

These voices in my head are getting louder day by day. They were mumbles, but as the days are going on, I can make out words. I haven’t been taking my medication properly, either my mother doesn’t give it to me, or I throw them away because they "look weird". I’m getting paranoid too. I told my dad I thought the neighbor across the street was posioning my milk.

"What neighbor across the street is poisoning the milk??"
"All of them."
"That’s your stupidity talking."
"No, I’m being honest."
"It’s sheer stupidity."

Is there no neighbor across the street, at all? No, I know there’s a neighbor there. I’ve talked to them.

I don’t feel okay.

But I don’t neccessarily know what’s wrong.

I just got back with my girlfriend 2 days ago.
She’s now bulimic.
I keep trying to convince her she is not fat.
But I’m losing that battle.
And I’m spending so much energy on it, I’m honestly exhausted.
 

I hate how I’m always there for people to talk to when they need someone, but I basically get shit on in return. It’s just not fair. But if I don’t help them out, I’m being "mean and uncaring", but if I said they were mean and uncaring, I get the "You always have problems, we can’t help you." I can’t help you either!!! I just talk it out with you and ultimately you have to help yourself.

So if you’re not willing to help me, don’t come to me with a problem. Just shut up and deal with it like you force me to do.
That’s not going to anyone in particular. I’m just in one of those moods.

If they make a pill for anger, I think I need it. Even on meds I’m too quick to anger. I want to cut your arm off for touching something in my room. God knows what would happen if you misplaced an object in my room. I might snap. I’m usually the explosive type anger, but anymore I’m the quiet type anger. And I’m damn spiteful too. It’s a bad quality I got from my mother. If I can’t have it, neither should you.

I’m just lame.
I think I’d rather be dead than continue living this way.
I’m too hyper, aggitated. Depressed.
Too obsessive.

Ugh.

 

xx.

 

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