I have to force myself to find something positive about today. I refuse to let today be a completely negative ordeal. I finally got my name straight on my car insurance and my cell phone service, after going through hell to do so, but I finally got it done. That’s a good thing.
I’m working my way through the list. Tomorrow I need to work on getting my title and registration straightened out, but living out of a motel makes it a little difficult to get mail and I don’t want my title going to my parent’s house. I don’t want someone to take it…
I’m not handling this stress very well. I feel like I’m drowning.
I need to raise money to get us out of here and somewhere…anywhere…else.
I can feel my temper slipping with each idiotic offense these people pull on us. The cars racing through here with their radios blaring at 2am.
The negligent assholes that let their five year old babies play in the streets unattended while their baby runs naked in the windows of their rooms.
The people bitching about my 7 week old puppy not being on a leash while their mongrels charge at Random while I try to walk him. When we call the front office, they tell us there’s nothing they can do, yet they can call my room and pitch a fit about my children playing in the grass in front of the room with the puppy.
I don’t like these feelings building inside of me. I don’t like feeling this way. I don’t like wanting to hurt someone and enjoying the prospect that it could bring.
I try to read, try to write, try to find a way to make money that doesn’t involve me being around people, because that just isn’t an option for me in this state right now.
I try hard to control myself…It’s painful how hard I try.
I clench my fists, nails digging into the palm of my hands as I stuff the anger, the feelings of hopelessness down. I have to stuff it down, I can’t let it out. My anger is a dangerous, violent beast that revels in the pain of others. I can’t let him out.
People wouldn’t understand if I told them. They would laugh, like my last psychologist. “You’re not schizophrenic,” she had laughed once when I breached my concerns to her. She didn’t know, she didn’t want to take the time to know. I would never trust her to tell her the truth. If I told anyone the truth I would be locked away in a mental asylum somewhere with a neat package label of some mental psychosis slapped on my charts.
That is how they treat people now, or rather don’t treat people. A label, drugs and a swift kick in the ass. There is no real help for the mentally ill, only a cluster fuck of a system that fails us time and time again.
I want to put my fist through a wall sometimes, just to let some of this anger out, to vent.
If I start…
I’m not sure that I could stop.
There’s too much that I’ve bottled up over the years. It really started getting bad when I was in high school, but then again what unpopular outcast doesn’t have it bad in high school?
That doesn’t matter now. This is now and that was then.
I have to stay focused, try to take it one day at a time.
I’ve tried to plan for the days ahead, but I never stick to my schedule.
I have to go somewhere, anywhere, and it’s never where I start out.
I drive for what seems like hours, never really knowing where I am going until I get there.
I’m loosing a lot of time again. Blanks in my memories. Hours mostly, sometimes a day…
I have to get away…I have to find home…but I don’t know where it is.
Nothing feels right. Everything feels like make-believe, like a bad film.
I want to wake up.
I can’t.
There’s nothing to wake up from.
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