I am so sexually frustrated right now. There are no words.

argh.

I’ve been busy, but not busy. I’ve been sleeping poorly.  It takes me a long time to fall asleep, and then when I do fall asleep, I have nightmares.

I tapered down my meds myself because I couldn’t find a decent psychiatrist. My emotions have been noticeably more raw lately, but I have been holding myself together. I’ve been more interested in playing music and recording music. I am pretty much in a place where I can manage the depression and the mania while still taking advantage of my manic tendencies.

I am lonely. Part of me wants to settle for someone just to have a body to curl up next to this winter. I’ve been going on dates here and there  but most of them are less than thrilling.

My money situation is shitty, shitty, shitty. Super shitty. Too shitty to even write about. Just….bad.

My writing has stalled. I have ideas, though. A production of Jesus Christ, Superstar will appear in the sci-fi novel.

I missed my mother the other day, so I cried for a while.

I made a really good stew, and I was pleased that my f riend went back for seconds. Best compliment a cook can get.

I think I walked past Seth the other day. If it was him, we ignored each other.

On the whole, I’m hanging in there; but I sure could use a hug & a cuddle.

That title has nothing to do with the post; it’s just one of the search terms that led to my blog that I find particularly amusing.

I had nightmares last night. I was being stalked by someone who kept finding me no matter where I went, and he would hit me and push me around. It didn’t matter where I went. He always found me, and he had this awful look on his face.

I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long, long time. Even when I manage to fall asleep (which hasn’t been easy for the past few weeks), it isn’t very restful.

fatty fat.

I am in Kansas until Friday, visiting my nephew, sister, and brother in law. I took the train. I edited part of a play manuscript, read some of John Gardner’s book for young novelists, and listened to a lot of Dan Savage’s lovecasts. It was strange to leave from Union Station, because I hadn’t been there since my mother died. I walked past the bench where xb sat and waited with me before my train arrived. When we parted that day, it was the last time I ever kissed him. I thought that my mother’s death meant that he would un-break-up with me. I thought that there was no way he would abandon me when I was going through something so awful.

I thought wrong.

Why does so much always come back around to him?

I talked to my special friend* the other day, and we agreed that I was most likely not thinking of him to be thinking of HIM, but rather I was thinking of our relationship when it was good and wanting to have that again—with SOMEONE ELSE. I think that is exactly right.

Every mirror I look into shows me a different image of myself. It is incredibly frustrating. Walking from one room to the next can completely shred my self-esteem. I know many of my pants don’t fit (which I am working on) but still, from mirror to mirror shouldn’t be such a radical difference. Stupid fucking mirrors.

*I hate the word therapist. Counselor sucks too. Anyone have any better words for it?

Last night I dreamt about hugging cute boys. And playing Beatles Rock Band with them.

Many things are happening, and I am trying to manage them without losing my mind. I have a second appointment with my new therapist lined up. I will soon be calling in-network psychiatrists for my medicines. I’m really looking forward to talking with this new person about all the fucked up shit from my childhood (which I recently realized I don’t remember a whole hell of a lot of my childhood. Between five and fourteen is pretty sparse when it comes to vivid memories. Is this true for other people? I don’t know.)

I just want to talk all of it through, hear someone say, “Yeah, that was fucked up, that was not good, you were fucked over,” etc, and so forth, and then I want to be able to put a lid on that box and tuck it away in the attic. I want it to be something that I can pull out and show to people without it all being fresh and painful. Because I want to be with someone who can listen to my history, and accept it, and also say, “Wow, that was fucked up.” xb could never accept my past. He couldn’t accept a lot of things. He wanted a compartmentalized person, a creation that didn’t really exist. I need to be with someone who is capable of hearing about my past, and accepting it, and realizing that without it I would not be the person I am today, the good and the bad. Once I manage to get the bad under control (extreme mood swings, anxiety, irritation, depressive phases, etc), I will be a pretty consistently awesome person. But I need to be with someone who understands when the bad slips through, someone who will cut me some slack and forgive me when I lose control for a bit.

I have been listening to the entire back catalog of Dan Savage’s Lovecast, which has been immensely helpful when it comes to dealing with my feelings of anger regarding past relationships. It also makes me a little bit horny, hearing all those sexy tales. Plus, Dan has a pretty sexy voice, and he curses alot. I love me some profanity.

Work has been going well. The usual frustrations arise occasionally, but on the whole I’m happy and enjoying my work.

I’ve been going on dates. Many of them are meh.

I’ve been steadily working on finishing the many, many unfinished manuscripts I have. There are at least four novels and five or six plays that I need to just finish. The novels then need to be critiqued and proof-read. The plays need to be read by actors. Then… I can move forward with them. I want to have at least one novel and one play done by spring.

The money situation is improving. Slowly but surely. Slooooooooowly, though.

So that’s what’s going on now. How about you?

Fuck you, Life! Fuck you, Job! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!

My new therapist heartily agreed that xb is/was/is a manipulative, delusional asshole who needs to stay the fuck away from me.

Also, the security guard for her building commented on my resemblance to Christina Ricci. I am always amused when people notice that.

I begin seeing my new in-network therapist tomorrow. I am ever so excited. Gee, I sure am tired of being mentally ill. It’s not fun like you see in the movies.

xb emailed my friend’s husband, to whine about how he (xb) needed to be able to be friends with my friend’s husband so xb’s career could flourish. Or something to that effect. The point is HE EMAILED MY FRIEND.

I’m a fucking crazy bitch, and even I have managed to not email any of his exclusive friends to whine about myself/our defunct relationship. Although I do work with a friend of his, and he seems to like me. I am proud of that.