I should’ve been born stupider, i might actually be happy. right? you take the whole existentialism out of the existential dread, and i don’t think you have anything to dread anymore. you just go about your daily buisness, doing whatever. i’d be pretty open to a frontal lobotomy right now, if it meant that i wouldn’t have to contend with my thoughts anymore.
whatever designed me was like “oh yeah, make him real smart but go ahead and make it impossible for him to successfully do anything. especially not anything that’s worth a buck.”
what do you do with this? when you can’t successfully self medicate it? you cant sniff, snort, shoot, drink or fuck it away…
i know that i can usually have some little “hey man, it’ll be ok” thing to say. but what it feels like right now is very “hey man, you’re not ok, you’ve never been ok, and it’s reasonable to assume you never will be, based on the facts of the case”.
if this blog is about living with bi-polar disorder, and being inside of that, it wouldn’t be right to leave out feelings like this, because i was worried about bumming out the reader, or something. like this whole project isn’t about feeling good, because life isn’t always good…sometimes it feels very bad. this shit is fucking visceral, dude. it’s only ten o’ clock in the morning, i can’t reasonably go to sleep until at least 7 pm, i don’t know what the fuck i’m going to do, i haven’t got any fucking money. At least i don’t feel this way while i’m living on the street, though, i suppose. like, at least i live somewhere and i’ve got food. so, at least i’ll be warm and well fed on this snowy jan. day while my thoughts absolutely brutalize me.
what the fuck bro? seriously. it took the better part of an hour to write that, too.
hey man, sorry to bum you out, but i still think you should buy me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/evr0ck17
