Sigh
Another bad day. I didn’t get much sleep because of the inspection because even though they were made aware that I was in bed because I sleep during the morning and early afternoon, I didn’t know when they were coming and was on edge for a while. I dunno, inspections stress me out, mostly because I’m almost always sleeping when they occur! Those are just my sleep hours. I go to bed at 6am. I get up around 2pm. And it generally takes me a while to actually get to sleep, like a couple of hours even with 10mg of melatonin in me, so I’m not really getting my eight hours. Some people like to call sleeping during the morning “laziness”. It’s not. Some people have different schedules and that doesn’t make them lazy, but it does make things like inspections kind of difficult. I think they’re afraid to come in my bedroom because I’m female. I told the property manager to tell them to come in and do whatever they need to do in my bedroom and to simply ignore my presence, but I don’t think they actually came into my bedroom to check whatever they were supposed to. I did see the kitchen light turn on so I knew they were here, so I pulled the covers over my head so they wouldn’t have to look at my face and feel weird about being in there, but I don’t recall hearing anything or my light being turned on. I guess they just didn’t wanna! They did have to do some stuff like replacing some outlets, changing filters, and checking faucets. I wish they had checked the faucet in the master bathroom, because it quickly became screwed up again after a few days. It sprays the water outward instead of in a normal stream. I’m glad it’s over and I won’t have to worry about for another three months or so.
The rest is kind of personal and talks about self harm and mental illness and generally unpleasant things. I put it under a cut because…reasons. 😬
My bad day started with little things. Little things that make me feel terrible because of things that happened in my past and persist until now. So I was already feeling kind of shitty. I heaved a sigh and went with mom. I’m not sure what happened because we were having a good conversation, but things went sideways. I wasn’t angry or anything, I’m just in the middle of a very bad depression and it’s slowly crushing me. I brought up something I shouldn’t have because it never fails to hurt my soul because there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. It was autism, btw. I kinda spiralled. I got really…I don’t know a word for it. I was feeling like was in “the pit” again. I’ve described the pit before. Anyone who has had depression can definitely relate. It’s like being in a dark pit and trying to claw your way out of it, but you keep falling back down. It’s soul crushing. This shouldn’t happen to people. It’s so cruel how your mind can just…turn against you. Because of chemicals being wonky. It’s not fair and it does not discriminate by race, gender, wealth, politics, fat or thin, or your level of attractiveness…it doesn’t matter. It’s a fact that depression is a universal experience. It really should not have to be. Maybe in the future there will be a cure. Not just a treatment. I don’t know if I’ll live to witness that, in fact I highly doubt it. People in the future are going to wonder how the people of our time dealt with this shit and feel sorry for us, kind of like we feel sorry for people centuries ago who had little to no treatment for mental illness.
Anyhow, when I got out of mom’s car to go home, I had such a dark feeling…the type of feeling I haven’t had in a really long time. I really want to self harm, and I told her this because I can’t keep that bottled up! It scares me! I’m really afraid I’ll get Baker Acted because I say that stuff. If I’m feeling like that, I HAVE to let someone know. I can’t keep it in because it makes me feel worse.
When I self harm, it’s usually cutting, and I have used the same X-acto knife since I was 16. I had it for that purpose. I don’t know where it is now and I am not going to cut myself with a serrated knife. Hell no, I’m not looking for excruciating pain. People who cut aren’t trying to kill themselves, we want a little pain so our bodies will release those endorphins, and also to distract from the emotional pain.
The last time I cut was some time around the late 2010’s. Maybe soon after we moved into that fucking house with the bad juju in the basement. Something really nasty was affecting me as my bedroom was in that basement. I felt it the first time I went into that damn basement while they were looking at the place. I thought “oh no, I can’t live here! Something’s bad down here!” I begged and pleaded for them to find another place but was ignored. They just did not care. After moving in, “It” started affecting my personality. I was so incredibly angry, all the time. I had never really been that way, it was like I suddenly had a bottomless well of rage in me. My mental health went into a steep decline and I eventually wound up in the hospital. I tried to tell them but no one listened. I was completely tuned out.
The funny part is a few years before when we lived in our previous townhouse, my mom said that I was an equal in our family, and that I had an equal say in things like that, because I was an adult. That was all a lie. I never forgot that and never quite believed anything she said ever again. Then her and dad did something truly horrible when I was having a TIA, which I had had before and was hospitalised for it. I won’t get into the specifics of what they both said and did but it destroyed my trust in them. That was in 2019, the night after I got out of the “behavioural health unit” coincidentally, and I have not fully rebuilt that trust. She claims she doesn’t remember how insanely bizarre she acted, isn’t that convenient? 😆 If you act like a fucking bridge troll, just say you don’t remember doing it. Easy fix, no accountability to be taken. 👍 I will never forget that night because it was so fucking traumatic. I know it was another mini stroke because I know how they feel and I couldn’t see right for days after. I lost the ability to focus my eyes on a single point. I tried to tell them that, but to no avail. Like hey, I can’t focus my fucking eyes! Something’s wrong here! I need to go to the ER! No, I did not get any medical care for that very obvious TIA. It’s almost like they both malfunctioned somehow. It was bizarro world. I thought they had lost their damn minds. I was questioning my own sanity, like am I fucking hallucinating this shit, because there’s no way they’d act like this. I’ve never quite gotten over it because of how fucked up and just plain WEIRD it all was. I have questions about it but I’ll never get any answers.
There is so much more I could rant about from the couple of years I lived in that demon house…I’m going to stop.
Good lort I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. That was a damn tangent. Stream of consciousness. I guess I just write about whatever pops in my head at any given moment. I don’t know if it’s all disjointed or whatever, but it’s not a problem since I’m pretty sure no one reads this blog. I need to get stuff off my chest and out of my head and blogging is an effective outlet. If someone actually does stumble upon my darker entries, I’m sorry you had to read that 😆 ya know what, I think I’ll put this under a cut. I’ll probably go back to some other dark entries and do the same. Sometimes when I write these things, I feel exposed and vulnerable, because talking about mental illness and trauma can be both cathartic and emotionally taxing. I feel like I’m really putting myself out there and possibly even inviting ridicule and derision. I would hope no one would be that nasty, but it’s the internets. 🤷♀️
I feel somewhat better now that I’ve gotten that out. Maybe I can relax a little, finally.