2005-07-19 - 7:56 p.m.

i feel like i'm fighting off the demons of depression. as if i just crave to be wrapped in her knowing arms.

for example, my place was cleaned, thanks to martha, the miracle cleaning lady. but i insist on piling up crap around me. like baggin the cat litter, but never really taking out. bottles, astray, papers piled high. and i'm feeling that feeling of just being off. off like i have little motivation to do anything, do be on top. like i'm picking out everything that's wrong.
wrorngoafgieahjfiaesjf;oisdjfWRONG.
WRONG WRONG.
wrong with me.
wrong with my life.

its just crap and i feel like goinig to sleep and i can't as i have to work verylate and i'm pissed about that. fuck these cock sucker dr.s i completely regrettt letting them ever fucking touch me. asshole creeps. they refuse to get in my body and believe my hormone levels are low. they still think they are fine. fine fucking assholes. fine for someone who naps daily. that's not me. now all i want is to nap and eat and eat and nap off the hard work of eating. and its pummelling me into depression. i'm just feeling. like. crap. in general. the cat litter smell after A GODDAMN DAY of cleaning it. why? why? all i feel i do is consume and tred water to stay near the fucking surface.

it's never done. the pile of papers always drowning. the litter a stinch no one should attempt to live with.

i worked on clients tonight. clients that have a big house, nannies, parties. a driver so she'll never have to wake up to even drive the kid to school. i know. i know. i shouldn't compare. i have what she doesn't.

freedom.

but jezuz fuck, i'd like to have a massage and nothing to worry about.

i feel like all i have inside right now, and for the last few days is barrels of anger. anger fuming at myself. brittle about every move i make, critical about all moves i don't make. disgusted with my entire fucking life. and then it spawns from there. anger at others. quick, sharp tempered. in general. i don't want to make myself out to be a total prick. but really, i feel like someone needs to fumagate me of all of my rash anger.

breath.

i fought with my endrocrin doctor. i know she is over me, officially.

i just feel pissed that every fucking day of my fucking hot summer life, i have to invent a wya to cover a gash across my neck the color of pomegranate. then i have to remember to take all of these ridiculous pills at ridiculous times all over my day. at four in the son of a bitch morning for gods fucking sake. i'm so pissed. then my entire fucking being has changed irrevocably since the surgery and i had no idea all that would be taken. i would of told them exactly where to stick their thousands of doctors bills. jezuz. so now what? i just have to battle out my physical chemical limitations again. and FIGHT against the depression that makes me want to just say fuck it and drink myself to sleep. again.

i just get so stalled out. it used to be worse. it used to be for days. drastic, upheaved days that i had to be excavated from. now it's relatively minor dips and brief plunges. but do i sound like a right woman to you?

i've got an angry lump of suppressed sobs choking my throat right now. i can't even have a good cry. i'm locked between rooms; that of totally submitting to these shit feelings, wailing out the emotion and the stubborn insistence on powering ahead no matter the cost. so now i need to spend an entire hour cleaning. then hours upon hours doing work for a deadline tomorrow morning. and i have to wonder if i'm going to let myself drink tonight. i've come to form a habit of enjoying a drink while i make the pieces at night. like it's my treat. the barter for working through the night. mostly i enjoy it thoroughly, music on, zenning out. having a drink. but i'm feeling scared that i depend on it. i'd like to take a month off just for shits and giggles. or take a window of time off. but then i think, why, i enjoy this so much. and i know about myself one thing. i can not under any circumstances be forced to do anything. i am not equipt to do diets, limitations, or rules once so ever.

ever.

never.

no.

not to mention, i've wanted to somehow start "controlling" my eating habits, which i know is the most personally dangerous place i can come to. i'm best when i'm self forgetting. when it's the last thing on my mind. then it settles into meaning what it is, sustanance. simply supply. fuel. but right now, it's larger than life. it's what i think about, plan about, sequester off into my cave like gathering nuts, insistent that the winter will be long. it's my comfort. a huge comfort. it's my punishment. it's my treat. it's my easing. my vacation. my moment away. and the booze is just the cherry on top of this. i'd say the food is more difficult for me.

years ago. it was out of control. this entire ship.

it's so much more improved. but i'm astonished by how slow the progress has been and how very fucked up i still feel.

so to top this how party off, i called mta one night and he sent this to me after:

> >
> >-----Original Message-----
>
> >Subject: hi
> >
> >I got your message this morning, I went to Vegas this weekend but was
>so
> >
> >tired when I got back that I just passed out when I came home.
> >
> >I'm really happy you called though. I'm sorry I've been so distant,
> >out-of-touch. I guess I'll just be blunt here - what it boils down
> >to is that we were hanging out so much, and despite myself, I was
> >really starting
> >to develop feelings and when we hooked up that night (which was all my
> >instigation I realize) I TOTALLY freaked out about it and I guess I
>kind
> >of
> >pulled a INEB and ran. But I feel like some time has passed and I
> >can totally deal now so I would love to kick it again soon. I'll
> >call you tonight after work. I hope things are awesome.
> >- MTA

>-----------------------------
to which i said after one nights pause:

Hmmm. thanks for sharing. I appreciate it. I'm not sure what to say,
> >imagine that, me at a loss. So instead I'm going to avoid anything
>real
> >until we're good and drunk. :*)
-------------------------------------

i talked to him finally on the phone and told him i didn't want to talk about anything. i got all squirelly. i don't know why.

this is all i wanted to hear. thirsted. to hear that he had feelings. that i wasn't rejected. to hear that i had converted dad.

but now i feel in this discussion that i feel this imperative to convince him of something. and i'm not sure of what or how, so i'm trying to pause. i guess he just wants things to be "normal?" not sure. i want him to want me, but then what would i do with it? i could never pix us together. he's too all over the place, i don't ever feel in my skin with him. i feel like he's constantly looking at other women, i constatnly feel less than, not thin enough not young enough. enough enough.

why does it have to take all these words for me to feel okay? why do i feel as if i have to tred so hard to meet the world half way -- work so hard just to feel vaguely healthy and functioning? i hate that. i hate those associations that i "need" so much to make me okay.

so tonight mta called and wanted to see if i wanted to see a show tonight. yes yesyysys. yes yes i do. the symphony. under the stars. but i couldn't. muster. stand. it. becasue i feel like something once again will be dangled before me, with no real delivery. and i have a work deadline. but how i wanted to run off into this illusion. this great illusion i nurture with all that i am. i want to run off and get just a drop from "him." aaaa the metaphoric "him".

him that was the him that was mta, ben, b, busy, smarty, daddy.

right now, i feel like i'm not surei'm going to make it. i feel like i'm not sure i have enough fight in me. not sure i don't just want to disappear into abandon. in the place where no one expects anything of me.

disappear from all of this responsiblity. deadlines. arguements. irritations. stress. leather being out. buckles being wrong. deadlines. late. buyer not liking this one, wanting that, faxes, behind. house mess. shit everywhere. where does it end? stop. then i've got that thing...fuck. i just can't feel okay about all i have to do. and i know that i keep looking at the whole marathon and i just need to stay on the mile i'm on.

i'm really amiss about mta. it set me off and i don't know why. he wants to do something this friday and like a dip, i said okay. now i'm feeling myself to be the illusive one. only because i'm protecting myself possibly.

well. all the talk in the world won't clean the cat litter, un-pile my pile, do the dishes, pay the bills, make my orders, feed the fat cats, get drunk and go to bed. so off i go. i do believe this is why i didn't necessarily want to grow up. the gray days that happen between the excesses of the brillant blacks and the fervent whites.