Wow I am not ok. I stopped taking my meds. I won’t say why due to people reading my blog that I’d rather not read it. You know who you are asshole.
Anyway, I stopped them. Cold turkey. I know. Dangerous. Don’t do it. Well I did it. I guess I could always start back up. It’s only been a couple of days. I am going crazy too so maybe I should but I don’t want to. Stubbornness? Maybe.
I guess part of me was hoping that I’d be just fine. I mean, I’ve been going to therapy for, what, almost a year? Yea, something like that. I thought therapy maybe was what was helping me, but screw that too. I just feel like pure borderline shit. No one gets it. No one but my fellow borderlines that is.
I’m paranoid as fuck. I’m terrified as fuck. I feel like a little kid afraid of the big bad world. Well the world is big and guess what, it is fucking bad. Truthfully. So maybe I’m valid for feeling afraid of it. I don’t know. I’m a fucking train wreck, and ye who reads my blog but shouldn’t can sadly vouch for the fact that I’m a fucking lunatic.
Don’t get me wrong. I can be the actress as needed when mom needs to be mom. That’s something I always am ok with. I can be mom. Other than that, I’m a fucking mess. I’m sick. Sick to my stomach I mean. Sick with anxiety. Rage. Rage at what I think is going on in the world around me. People are surely screwing me left and right behind my back. People are fucking liars. Liars and users. They just want to use you for what they can and keep you around for, well, I have no idea what for. Why would someone keep me around if they were just screwing with me? I mean seriously. Why keep a fucking raging borderline bitch by your side when you can go and have your fun without her? Why hurt her in the process?
Again, let me get this straight and be realistic for one god damn second and say that I have no reason that I can think of to lead me to believe that someone is doing me wrong. I just believe it anyway. I feel it in my bones.
The bitch. The evil bitch inside is back full on. She’s fucking with me like a fucking rag doll. A fucking helpless rag doll. She’s feeding me shit and it’s working. Tearing me down. Self harm? Want to. Did it yet? No. My boyfriend wouldn’t be happy and the last thing I want to do is anything that may make him want to leave me. Suicide? Want to. Obviously I haven’t done it yet. I’m here typing this shit.
All my followers are probably going to read this and think, “Wow, she really is a fucking nutjob.” Yea, it’s true. I held my shit together for awhile to write some well thought out posts but now here I am. Broken and fucked up. Are you happy (you know who you are)?
I’ll be back. Dinner time.