I wish they had a pill that induced the desire to change.
I attended an AA meeting locally and found myself rather uncomfortable. I recognized someone there and eh. . .

I emptied my bottle of Vistaril. I didn't do anything for me but provide extra mild sedation, but I guess I still have that mentality. . . . I was popping two or three every hour or so. Now they are gone and I have to wait to be prescribed something else. I just picked up the Vistaril prescription a week ago, so it will be a long, anxious wait.

I've been drinking as well,but I've devised a method so that I wont be caught. . . . I go out to get groceries and stop by the convience store for a tall boy, drink it, go to the store, buy another and take it home.  . . . wait for parents to go to bed. I don't get drunk, really, it's just something to do. In a way, it's a release. . . I think and plot it and then obsess over the details of where and when. . . it's fucking sick.
I'm not bad off by any means, I'm not out of control. I just don't know if I want to quit, in my heart. I'm still in so much pain and my thougts are so negative and I rarely leave the house. It's not that things are bleak, that I'm suicidal or even feeling recklessly "high".  .. . like I was before I came home.
It's so hard for me to say no to these thoughts, especially when my mood fluctuates between apathy and the blackest pessimism. Fuck it. . . that's the phrase that gets me in trouble. . . Fuck it, who cares, I like it.
And that's so easy to say when I am alone.

I don't really miss people or my friends. Maybe I'm growing comfortable feeling like shit.
The meds – Lamictal and Zoloft – have only been in me a week, so I don't know if they'll help, but I know that they wont change my thinking. They wont take away the fuck it's, fuck this, fuck you track that plays in my head.
I can tell some side effects, I think I'm very sensitve to them . . . just a runny nose and insomnia.
I'm still a fucking basketcase.
I just think about my problems – the chemicals, my eating "problem", anxiety, bipolar/depression/thing they say I have..  and I don't know how I'll beat it.  . I'm this trembling human fawn, scared to death of life.  So many things to work through that I don't think I can do it, honestly. The fear of people, of being fat, of the future in general is enough to paralyze me. . . . . add in an addictive personality. . .  ah, I'm just indulging in negative thoughts now. Need to stop.
Bleh

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