People always forget that I am horribly fascinated with what drives a person to consume human flesh. I do not want to eat it myself. I do not want other people to eat it. Since I can’t stop it I want to know what are the different types of cannibals and what compels them. My favourite ones are the people who eat already dead bodies and are not hurting anyone, just being creepy and gross with a corpse.
I lent my friend a book on famous cannibals throughout history. The next time we hung out I was talking about how different ages of humans taste different. She looked at me oddly and then asked how I knew about that. I responded with telling her I already told her my fascination and how she willingly asked to borrow one of my books on it.
It is an academic interest I have. My sister finds it endearing.
I am making my parents watch American Horror Story with me. Mom said who ever wrote the script or came up with the concepts must have a sick mind. I giggled and told her it was standard horror stuff, but soooo good. She doesn’t like horror though. So that explains a lot. Dad, my sister, and I are a different story. We all enjoy horror. My sister and I grew up on true crime tv and stories. My grandmother who lived with us thought it was perfectly acceptable to allow us to watch true crime and news with her.
I need a new social worker. The one I have doesn’t believe that I am suicidal or that I have manic episodes. She makes me feel like I am not trying hard to get better. She tells me I am stubbornly stuck. She doesn’t listen to what I say and doesn’t appreciate my small victories. She just pays attention to what I can’t do and makes me feel bad for not doing things that make me want to kill myself. The only way to get a new one though is through her. So I have to tell her I can’t handle it with her anymore and need someone different who listens and pays attention.
It is so annoying to not be able to talk correctly. My mind can’t find words or I think one thing and my body says an other. I struggle so hard to communicate some times. It is frustrating. I slur my words, make weird sounds. I don’t have control of what comes out of my mouth all the time and it is getting more common.
I can’t be left alone in a store or I will have a panic attack. I have a service cat for a reason. My dad keeps leaving me and wondering off when I am out with him and don’t have Wesker. I don’t know if he was teasing me or not when he said I should be able to be alone. I got all serious and told him not to make me feel bad for having anxiety or needing someone with me. It is hard enough just leaving my house. He probably was teasing, but I can’t even handle someone teasing me about not being able to be out alone.
Mom told me that she was enjoying living with me again and was happy about it. I told her she better! Cherish the hell out of me because I am not okay. I am mentally ill and although I want to be alone all the time I know logically I shouldn’t be. I should be living with someone who loves and keeps an eye on me.
My parents and I just moved into a new house. A neighbour knocked on the door. I told them not to answer in case it was a stranger. Mom didn’t listen of course. Mom and dad are outside talking to them and I want to go get a knife so bad to defend myself in case the guy is dangerous. I am down in my basement.
I am very open about my mental health. I tell people when I am suicidal. People always forget. They act surprised like it is the first time I have ever said it when I bring it up casually. If someone tells you they are suicidal I think it is best to maybe not forget?
It also shouldn’t be surprising that I want to die. I have been on disability and can barely look after myself. I am mentally ill of course I want to kill my self. Life it sheer torture that no one should ever have to experience.
I am getting a bit manic. I am moving to the new place some time this or next week. I am getting the new place painted and cleaned. I also have to get all my mental health stuff done, my Nannie just died, and I have to clean and pack my current place. It is a fuck ton of shit at once. Instead of getting crippling panic attacks I am getting manic. I can’t physically stop myself from packing, cleaning, painting, ect.. Mom keeps telling me to take breaks and stop. I get over heated and dehydrated. I don’t eat, drink, pee. I don’t notice I am hungry, need to pee or thirsty. All I feel is an uncontrollable urge to keep working.
I get the anxiety sweats and am burning up from the inside out. I keep falling and bumping into things. I also can’t wear my glasses because I am so sweaty they just fall off my face. I can’t not go and fix up my own house that my parents are giving me half for an apartment for me. So I am going manic. Mom doesn’t understand what that means so she always gets me to go. I shouldn’t be doing it, but I can’t stop. If I tell her then she will make me stop. She made me take days off over the last two weeks because I am clearly a different type of mentally unwell. She doesn’t know what it is from though or why.
People are always surprised how good Wesker is. They comment on how she stays with me and listens to what I say. She comes when I asked her to. Why on earth would I have a service animal that didn’t listen and wasn’t able to be trained? She has been my service cat for over two years.