The cold, lately.
It’s cold.

I know I’m fucking redundant; welcome to the goddamn jungle.

I’ve spent a lot of time, lately, making decisions that are (theoretically) to advance myself and yet I see none of the profits. My eyes, sunken in and my hands, waxen, I’m forever in a state of exhausted anxiety.

It started after I was sick.

Mood swings (clearly more of a personality quirk than a temporary state of being) became rampant and my passive-aggressive attacks on those nearest to me we’re obvious: I was being a total dick.

And then, the paranoia. The drinking. The stress. The sleepwalking. The crying. The anxiety. The nosebleeds. The sallow skin and translucent, constantly dialated pupils. And the nausea; the nausea is the worst! Out of nowhere a wave of sickness like the early signs of conception without the possibility. Standing, moving, blinking makes my head swim in schools.

“It’s just stress.”

Of course it’s fucking stress what else the fuck can it be you fuck?

“Maybe you’re feeling overwhelmed.”

Oh? Really? Srsly like omg?

I don’t know where I come off having the audacity to stress over stupid shut but I most certainly do (I’m a woman).

No. There’s not a well thought out conclusion to this drunken ramble. I’m just so damn tired.

Goodnight.

I have the attention span of an autistic child when it comes to tumblr. I promise I’ll be better this time.

The problem with Netflix is you spend so much time simply deciding what you want because of all the damn choices!

I’ve been locked up in my house and have seen only that and the inside of the hospital for the past week and a half. I’m fucking miserable.
But I guess I’m healing, or whatever. My whole body feels broken down and I’m constantly nauseated. But the wound is a little smaller, right?

I feel a little abandoned. A little forgotten. A lot frustrated. And anxious. I get to leave the house tomorrow, though. I don’t even know when I’m allowed to go back to work.

I dislike the rain. Makes my side hurt.

I feel as though I’m regressing in life. I can’t tell whether this is a quarter-life crisis, an emotional breakdown, or a reaction to a traumatizing week. Either way, I have uncomfortable, depressing tunnel vision that seems to go nowhere.

I’ve quit smoking but have picked up a rather comforting norco habit. I think the norco is what’s making me sick.

I’m gonna die, anyways, right?

Forgive me; I’m kind of high on narcotics right now.