sick to my stomach

you make me sick to my stomach.

you make me want to go home, want to crawl into a strange bed, pull the sheets up over my head and never come out.

reality makes me carry on.

responsibilities. far more than the first time you tried to take everything from me.

perhaps i care more now that i understand you, and am more acutely tuned in so as to know when you're going to bitchslap me upside the head.

you won't win. not this time. not anymore. i won't let you.

i am better than you, even when i can't imagine it could be so.

adjust, readjust. whatever it takes. i'll never beat you, but you won't win.

ahhh, depression, my oldest frenemy

not being a rapid-cycling manic-depressive is some hard shit to deal with.

while i'm glad i don't get 'stuck' in a manic episode, i'm pretty well sick and tired of depressive episodes. i'm obviously better than i was 3 years ago; i would never have even attempted to get out of bed on days (or weeks) like today (or this week). and if i did make it out of bed it would be with an unwashed face, unbrushed hair, stinky breath from not having brushed my teeth, and i'd sit in dirty ass pj's for days on end.

well my jammies are clean, my flat iron plugged in, i'm getting ready to get up and go to work.

what a difference the right medications make; but man, i wish they'd just knock the depressive episodes out of me completely.

boys aren't helping, either. or it could be perception.

all i know is that you should *never* text a boy and ask him if he's ever wanted to 'kurt cobain' himself. it was an off the cuff remark; i'm not suicidal. he didn't see the humor in it at all.

as for the rest of the boys in my life, well, they can all fuck off for the time being. i hate being alone, i really do, but it's better than the jackassholes that enter my life at an alarming pace. i need to quit some boys, keep other stuff closer to my heart, and fall in love again.

where'd my mania go?

when i was manic, i could write for hours. it was probably a manic episode that led to the creation of my original blog.

now that i'm properly medicated?

zip. zero. nada. nothing.

i'm just a crying depressive bitch who has fiber farts.