In all honesty, this one should probaby be pasword protected, Im frankly embarassed at the rambing self deprecating content. but I like that photo, so it can stay but be warned this really is not worth reading. Either look at an older one, or wait for the next one, save your brain cells from commiting suicide.
well, no horse riding because of a light breeze and a little drizzle, if it was my horse and my rules, I’d have gone out anyway (as long as the horse was dry enough to tack up) but no. And I had to wait all day satruday for a message which did not come…then SO woke me up at 7:45 on Sunday incase I had a message saying riding friend was on her way to pick me up….but no reply until I text to say I must be getting senile and couldnt remember what we said about riding…so I looked needy and pathetic and forgetful and rude and allsorts. Instead, I could have done somethign useful like tidy the flat, or creative like paint something but no, I spent hours playing Skyrim instead. So all isolated and unsatisfied I spent the weekend. I would have liked to have an excuse to dress up and go out somewhere but he opportunity did not present itself – instead SO took the worlds least flattering pictures of me with my camera cheers love, that’s just grand..incase I wasn’t paranoid enough about the old acne scars, the patchy facial tones and all the things which are wrong with my face…some days ago if you had asked I may have conceded that I was not entirely without merit physcially and personality-wise as a huan being. Now I am not so sure.
Those waterproof cycling overtrousers I ordered (in my actual dress size) which refused to fit over my hips were meant to be replaced with a size bigger (what a vile thought but hey-ho) yet I cycled in the snow to the post office to collect a parcel which contained – ah, the same size again. Strangely enough since the last parcel my hips and bum have not deflated an appreciable amount – infact they should not have, Im still at minimum acceptable mass. I need to write to the manufacturer about their design fault. Trousers with no zip or other fastening than elasticated waist, so trousers must be pulled over legs and hips, yet waistband is several inches smaller than hips of finished garment – waist does not stretch to width of hips of either garment or proposed size model, when trousers are shoe-horned on hips are too big for model.. What gives? So I am upset once more and have to send the bloody things back to boot.
I have to meet with boss and a student about my upcoming supervision of said student completeing a project which I initiated and don’t want to share. I am unhappy but will not disclose my concerns here. I have no choice regardless of my feelings. Powerlessness makes me feel bad.
Don’t read any further unless you really feel the need to read my depressive ravings. seriously. Not good reading.
Goodbye bouncy happy words. Hello familiar misery. Dear internet world. I would quite like to cry. Descention if dissasisfaction with waking life has ocurred once again. Nothing I do will ever be good enough will it? Maybe I should just tell my Doctor I need to increase my med dose, that would kinda solve the problem, in a plaster stuck over a bullet wound kind of way.
well. If only there was a ‘thing’ to focus on, to blame, to understand but there is only this hopelessness. Was it ever any other way? Maybe you really can’t fix some things without medication, maybe all that talking and all this writing was uncecessary, maybe this stupid desire to be med-free is getting me nowhere, maybe I should just accept that I am not complete enough, no strong enough to cope with the world if I am insufficiently drugged. How dreadful. I am ashamed, honestly. I’ve been through the keeping eberything to myself, then the phase of feeling it was a novelty to finally tell people about my problems, but where did any of it get me? Where am I going anyway? If I ruin my chances of getting a new job through being depressed and vile in the workplace, that would be just the worst thing. I can’t let that happen, but you know, there’s nothing really wrong is there? everyone feels a bit down sometimes, I just wonder how far down you have to go before it becomes a recognizable problem. when you stop thinkng you dont want to get out of bed and actually start staying in bed? doesnt the damage start way before that?
Im wading through a pile of stop signs, a syrup of misgivings, mixed in with the impending sense of failure. This makes little if any sense. She’s had too much freedom, that one who throws around images of glitter and hope and artistry, she’s far too delluded. Im no artist, no great writer, Im not really anything, I dont even know who I am some days. You can ask what my favourite colour is and some times I cant work out what answer you want to hear. Do I even like some of the music I listen to? or am I conditioned to beleive I like it?
I don’t think I helped myself yesterday considering publishing some poems from when things were really, exceptionally shitty and dark…I dont know what I would hope to acheive by doing that. Recognition for being troubled? aren’t I a bit old to be playing the sullen teen now? So why do I even consider it? because sometimes in the depths of mental crisis, some of the most beautiful things are borne.