I elected, again, to forgo the whole sleeping thing last night, and it has definitely caught up with me. I did spend the wee hours of the morning scratching in the one composition book I labeled as “the real notebook”, and this is what i scratched:
can you have come a long way and still be really fucked up? I think yes. if I'm examining my black and white thinking, there isn’t some single point that you arrive at where you can say “well, I used to be fucked up, but now I'm not.” maybe there’s such thing as being less fucked up (but still fucked up), or fucked up in less destructive ways. I suspect that I have come a long way but I know that I am still fucked up, and also fucked up in less destructive ways. still super fucked up, though.
Rapid mood swings, micro hypomanic episodes, compulsive internet dopamine seeking…sometimes i don’t go to sleep. I'm always one to focus on the negatives while ignoring the positives, so I should challenge that thinking too. there is no one who is as critical of me as I am of myself, even though i think they are all judging me. the people that matter love me for who i am (as fucked up as I am), and the people that don’t, well… fuck em. I never knew how to be anyone else, even really when I really wished I could be. there were stretches when i would wish I was someone else quite often, like “oh look at person x who has all of this y.” i fully believed that i was human garbage, unfit to live, who didn’t deserve any good things because they’re such a peice of shit. i know that’s really sad, but it’s true.
I definitely think that way less of the time, now…not that it’s totally gone. that counts as progress, right?
speaking of progress, today i found out that i can go tour 3 separate apartments way out in Queens so that I can pick one to move into pretty soon (i hope). that’s good news.
