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Jack's Extras

2017-04-17 - 10:06 p.m.

Jack's Stupid Pathetic Entry

People always tell me I am strong.

I am fucking pathetic.

If I ever was strong, then I have been too strong for too long.

And I can not fucking do it anymore.

I feel like a wounded animal trapped out in traffic.

Life will not stop coming at me. Hitting me from every direction at the same time.

I just fucking want it to stop. No, need it to stop. Desperately. Need.

Just stay down.

Only that doesn't work when you are laying in the middle of the freeway. And they know where you live.

They just keep coming.

Nothing I do is ever good enough.

It's never enough.

Life keeps reminding me of this. Over and over again. Never lets me forget.

You are a weak, pathetic piece of shit. Let me count the ways.

You are never good enough. You are not even bad enough. Nothing you do is ever good enough. It's never enough. It never will be.

This stupid entry is not even good enough. This is why I don't write more.

I feel so fucking useless.

Pitiful.

Helpless.

So fucking stupid and codependent.

With as many blades as I own, I can not advocate my way out of a wet paper bag. I just sit in it and cry that it's so cold in here. As it melts and falls apart around me.

My stupid wet bag life is falling apart and there is nothing I can do.

Even when I try it's a fucking joke.

What good is a long slow day of self care if it just ends in self harm?

My therapist has been out of town for the last week and I have been freaking out. She kind of left at a bad time and I can not call or text her at all. Left completely alone and to my own devices, for just one week, it got too real. Not only how desperately I need this program, more specifically her, but just how pathetic and codependent I am.

I say specifically her because despite telling Case Worker Barbie and the Smug Bitch to at least reach out and check on me while she is gone, neither of them did. Which is both a good and bad thing.

I actually needed to talk to Case Worker Barbie but I did not have her number. And there is no way in HELL I am calling the Smug Bitch. Not even to get through to Case Worker Barbie. Not even when there is yet more time sensitive bureaucracy involved.

Tomorrow I see her. Finally. Like a smirking joke.

Better late than never. Yeah tell that to DHS.

She called me this afternoon, because my therapist comes back tomorrow. She doesn't want me to be able to say she never called.

While I do need to see her, I am not looking forward to it. It will be the first time she comes to my house. If she even makes it.

She has proven herself to be nothing but unreliable. I do not trust her with the responsibility of bringing out my meds. Right now I really do not need to be without my medication. I am not exactly very stable. This is far more serious than she realizes or takes it.

If I have an empty pill bottle tomorrow night I am going to fucking lose it.

And by tomorrow the latest paper games from DHS will be due in two days. This should have been dealt with a week ago. But look who we are dealing with.

My job in this program is supposed to be to relax, work on myself and get better. Maybe not well. But better. Like being in the hospital, but outpatient.

The whole point is for there to be less pressure on me. Less is expected of me.

You have people for that.

Yeah well, either my therapist or I have to do fucking everything.

I just want my therapist to come out.

But I have to see Case Worker Barbie now that I have more of a case and Tuesday is probably going to be her day now that the nurse is gone.

God I hope she does not fuck this up.

I wonder if my therapist has any idea what a angry pathetic wreck I am.

I wanted to tell her something good. I wanted her to be proud.

Hell, I wanted to be proud of myself. I fucked that all up.

Somehow I am going to have to smile and hold it in tomorrow for Case Worker Barbie. I do not want her to see me sweat much if I can help it. I do not know or trust her. I just want to get our little business over with as quickly and nicely as possible. Maybe I will have a bit of a drink before she comes over.

Somehow I am also going to have to smile and hold it in for my client.

As much as I like her and need the money, I am just so fucking tired. I am fucking tired of smiling and feeling the need to impress, charm and amuse people all the time. I feel this constant pressure and social performance anxiety. Even around people I like and usually am comfortable around lately. Maybe especially them.

I am fucking tired of feeling the pressure and need to be ON all the time.

Even here I feel it. I know I need to write more. But sometimes the pressure stops me. Sometimes after I write I feel remorse the next morning. God I am so insecure right now.

I am also a bit drunk. If I did not have to get up tomorrow and be a good useful productive member of society for one day, I would just keep drinking. For some reason I just keep wanting another. It kind of sucks more than usual having to cut it off.

A few hours ago I wanted to write a completely different entry but ended up writing this.

Anyway I need to get to bed so I can rise and fucking shine.

When do I get to just relax and work on me?

"In Tyler We Trust"

The Moment - Change Over

Jack's Stupid Pathetic Entry - 2017-04-17
Jack's Adrenal Fatigue? (2) - 2017-04-12
Jack's Adrenal Fatigue? - 2017-04-12
Jack's Transgressive Clever Little Mind - 2017-04-07
Jack's Confused Inappropriate Laughter (2) - 2017-03-26

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