into the becoming

i'm sorry, blog. i'm not a very good friend to you, am i? i know i only come around when i need something...and if you'll just indulge me this time, i'll try to do better, okay?

That said...something is wrong with me. Something is wrong, something is off, something is notright. i've steadily been sinking under the various stresses of work, and over this past weekend i realized that i'm just not...coming up for air.

i've made an appointment with my doctor, because i have a feeling that i've plateaued on yet another medication.

It's both...scary and comforting to be here again. Comforting in an odd, dream-world like haze that surrounds everything...and scary because...well, because it's still there.

i don't like not wanting to have sex. i don't like not wanting to interact with anyone. i don't like being bothered enough by people that i have to run out of a store (which i did this weekend). i don't like wanting to cry, and i don't like the horrible, awful things i am thinking about myself. i don't like how i'm treating myself, and i don't like how i feel the need to grieve these tiny bits of me that i'm sure i can feel dying inside me.

It's sadly, frighteningly familiar.

On a completely different, "youcanonlyblameyourself" note...i was walking out of the grocery store today when i heard that incessant ringing of the Salvation Army Bucketeers. After getting over my shock of hearing them BEFORE THANKSGIVING, i noticed that the lady in question was singing, and so i thought...Well, isn't that cheery...until i walked past her and realized what she was singing...

"...and i'm gonna ring this bell...every single damn day....six days a week...."

Yeah.