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#1
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I've told my 'story' on here often enough and it doesn't need repeating. I feel like Gerald in D. H. Lawrence's Women in Love: I just want to walk out into the blizzard and lay down to rest and die. I'm not suicidal. I'm not ready for that. I'm just ready to admit that I can't make it any longer.
------------ When I pressed on the post new thread button, the paragraph above was in the text box. Maybe I typed it the last time I visited? I don't know. I wrote (apparently) "I can't make it any longer" where, normally, someone would write "I can't take it any longer." I meant what I wrote. Just as I reach a point lower than I have ever reached, I fall even further. My hypergraphia returned with vengeance and I cannot control it at the moment. For a little over a month I have been overly obsessed with an old girlfriend and in less than two weeks I had a 287 page letter to send to her; only to find out today, and I don't know the reason, that she didn't want me to get in touch with her again. The last time was in February of 2013. It is always the NOT knowing – not knowing why she doesn't want me to get in touch – that send my mind reeling, overthinking, panicking, wondering what STUPID thing I must have done, even forty years ago. And so I have a new, unforeseen ****-up to worry about. An ex-friend told me last week that she had divorced and was engaged. But I wonder just how much that ex-friend knows as she was not aware that my crush had moved over a year ago. And something else... something that has made me wonder if I may be a bit bipolar, a bit hypomanic: I've been spending money like crazy for at least a month. My credit is so good only because I always pay 3-4x the minimum payment and I've never been late on a payment. So today I ordered an iPad Pro and was going to use special financing through one of my credit cards but I was offered a slightly better deal and now I'm almost $10,000 in debt but have a remaining $50,000 in available credit. I have been on a spending binge and I have read that is typical of a particular type of bipolar hypomania. I don't want to tell my doc. Both he and my psychopharmacologist are beginning to get under my skin. I know, because they've both told me, that I should be hospitalized for a while and that is what frightens me the most. I am all over the place. And nowhere. Except for 5mg per day of Brintellix and 200mg of Seroquel, I'm on the same antidepressant that I was when first seeing these jokers in June. There were a couple of weeks, when I was writing obsessively to the party of my obsession, that I felt a little better. Because, I think, I was reliving a happier time. A time of beauty and youth. A time when both body and brain were friends. Before, at age 40, when they began a competition to see which could kill me first. I believe that only the insane can believably say that they don't fear death. The suicide bombers so certain of paradise are insane. And if you think for long about either living for eternity in some sort of afterlife or think about being and then suddenly not being, you'll think yourself insane. It's over 24 hours since I last slept. I'll just leave my *****ing here and go off to ***** in my journal. No questions asked, no replies needed. I just needed to vent in 'public' for a moment. Have a wonderful evening. |
![]() Fizzyo, Rohag, Skeezyks, StillIntending, vital
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![]() StillIntending
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#2
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To be able to return to those days...
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#3
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