I was at the drug store and made a loud ‘oooo’ sound while in line at the cash. The lady in front of me turned around and said that she had to see what I got excited about. I showed her the cover of the magazine I just picked up and was leafing through. It was one on cults. The woman looked at me blankly . I said cults were very interesting.
I have been telling people about how I fell at my dispensary because my legs were shaking. I caught myself on the counter. The guy who was helping me seemed very concerned as I went down like a sack of potatoes 🥔. I pulled myself back up and said I was fine. Just anxiety shakes and that it happens all the time. I find this story funny. No one else does. I was told today it was my mental illness. I feel as if they don’t appreciate a good someone fell on/into a counter due to Bambi legs. Every else is too concerned about my anxiety shakes. I have been talking about them for a while now. They happen. Let’s at least get some amusement from it. I also have had my eye spasming since yesterday. That is less funny…
The longer I am horribly anxious the worse my morbid sense of humour gets. I also have a higher tolerance for things I don’t want a higher tolerance for. At least my dreams aren’t getting more messed up because they were pretty horrific some times to begin with.
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.