Dear universe: thank you for weed, concealer, and living with the famjam.

A day's suffering summarized above. That is what mental hell feels like from my latest day of sobriety... I have to believe I'm at least doing some decent introspection into wtf my life goals and values are. I cannot believe that's something we actually have to think about. For some reason, I thought it would just magically (or maybe instinctually is the word?) happen. "It" being a badass life that ... wow, I don't even know.

The few friends I still text all suffer from my latest running train of thought when I come up for air. This is why I had to quit pills alone... There's not many people I'd be able to survive living with sober (and by survive, I mean have my depression/anxiety at levels that don't make suicide seem appealing), but thank you my dear universe for Denver (Mikey and Joey too)... Idk if that even came out as the joke I meant it to be, but I don't care. I'm just trying to stay alive, and since I don't paint this is my only modus operandi. (??? New goal: talk to Jordan more to pick up his fantastic words and use myself in conversation... because talking to people and creating relationships seems to be pretty important to my overall happiness. Annoying - wait no no. fuck why do I find it 'annoying' that I'm acting in a way that scientists say humans act??? I'M MAD I'M NORMAL!? ISN'T SANITY THE GOAL??

...hm no, I guess maybe happy gets prioritized over sanity, and you just have to hope they're one in the same. Poor Adam, I basically sent him texts with somewhat slightly (I hope) more relevant attempts at explaining why I can't send a text or do ... anything, but mainly I just panicked out loud. I don't want to be that person, that friend - the panicky one. That is just so... "uncool", even though I hate that such a juvenile word was my first thought. I'm terrified that maybe we're just programmed with certain levels of self-criticsm vs. confidence and there's not much we can do about changing it... or no, more that it's our childhood that determines so much about how we feel about ourselves that nothing I do now will make a difference in my outlook. What am I doing? I don't know, but at least I'm not fucking HIGH.

... on painkillers. because as I said, thank you my sweet universe for weed.

Why can't I just settle down and figure out how to actually work the GhostPro UI/software... or even do little updates to this blog, like adding pictures and making sections - giving it some organization. Okay fuck no that's easy: 0% chance I ever want to re-read anything that I'm able to spit out of my head from the dark days. It's the only way I'll write anything, otherwise I'd still be yelling at myself to write anything. #whyamIlikethis fuck, I guess that's all I'm trying to figure out here.

...Doesn't matter, because at the end of the day we all die alone.

stop being so dark you fucking brain! I am grateful. As I thought to myself while sobbing at nothing earlier:

"how can I be so grateful yet so deeply upset at the same time?"

I'm not even trying to be philosophical, I'm talking about mental survival - because just existing isn't a life worth living, and I'm concerned that my standards for doing more than existing are proving to be moving goal posts.

ughhh. at least I'm breathing and alive to fight another day. I mean tomorrow Denver gets his specially customized bark box - I have no idea what I'm paying and he'll chew through it ---

last train of thought...

I should get my work done, maybe that's what's bothering me/the reason I'm going insane/feel like life is a never ending cycle of misery even though I KNOW that soon enough I'll look back on this moment and be like "ah that sucked, but I mean nothing was actually wrong" ... fuck. Stringing together thoughts is hard - so many of them flit around at once without making much sense anytime I try and turn them into actual human communication (English, although I'd tango with Espanol given the chance) – because of side thoughts like that!

I definitely have that exact thoughts many times per day. the easy way out is to just say "fuck it" .. so fucking tempting.  Not caring is such a perfect way to just keep existing - making a body move throughout the motions through the day. I want to care. Right now, it just hurts too much to do more than survive.

UPDATE: I cannot believe I'm about to say this... but once again I found that all it really takes is saying a prayer. I'M A CLICHE AND NOT EVEN MAD ABOUT IT, AH! ;) <3