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| God!! That guy's aim is terrible. |
demonic lust' is too harsh?"
~ Ricky Butcher
***WARNING***
The following was written not by me, but by my fucking rage. It is not
pretty.
pretty.
You prolly shouldn't read it, and I'm sorry to all those I offend.
Which will be everyone.
Hey! I told you not to fucking read this.
I’m in a shatty mood. I don’t know how much I’ll write. M hasn’t answered my texts, and I'm scared it's because I puked up my sushi last night. Like I’ve never done that before?!
The government has also told me to go fuck myself, in regards to getting social assistance so I can go to treatment. Which is always helpful.
And...I dunno. Fuck.
I know that this too shall pass, and I’m still sitting here in this fucking hospital - I will NOT RUN. But fuck do I ever want to leave and go do something stupid. An OxyContin 80 would be so fucking good right now, I wouldn’t have to feel ANY of this mother fucking shit. When I'm angry like this, I feel like just throwing it all away, my clean time and my chance here in the hospital to get better and what I have accomplished in the past two weeks, and just going back to what I know. Because it was never ME who had a problem with the way I lived my fucking life. I was perfectly happy dancing and puking and starving and trying to snort my way off the planet as soon as was fucking possible. It was YOU who said I couldn’t do it anymore, the people who love me. Not me. You.
But if you don’t even think I can fucking do this, then why don't you leave me the fuck alone? Why don’t you all go fuck yourselves and let me get back to what I FUCKING KNOW HOW TO DO RIGHT, if you think I'm such a lost fucking cause?
I know I will regret having written this later, when I am no longer angry. I know I don't really mean a word of any of this, it's just my disease rearing it's ugly head and fighting back. But I needed an outlet for all this rage, and this blog was all that was available to me.
I’m in a shatty mood. I don’t know how much I’ll write. M hasn’t answered my texts, and I'm scared it's because I puked up my sushi last night. Like I’ve never done that before?!
The government has also told me to go fuck myself, in regards to getting social assistance so I can go to treatment. Which is always helpful.
And...I dunno. Fuck.
I know that this too shall pass, and I’m still sitting here in this fucking hospital - I will NOT RUN. But fuck do I ever want to leave and go do something stupid. An OxyContin 80 would be so fucking good right now, I wouldn’t have to feel ANY of this mother fucking shit. When I'm angry like this, I feel like just throwing it all away, my clean time and my chance here in the hospital to get better and what I have accomplished in the past two weeks, and just going back to what I know. Because it was never ME who had a problem with the way I lived my fucking life. I was perfectly happy dancing and puking and starving and trying to snort my way off the planet as soon as was fucking possible. It was YOU who said I couldn’t do it anymore, the people who love me. Not me. You.
But if you don’t even think I can fucking do this, then why don't you leave me the fuck alone? Why don’t you all go fuck yourselves and let me get back to what I FUCKING KNOW HOW TO DO RIGHT, if you think I'm such a lost fucking cause?
I know I will regret having written this later, when I am no longer angry. I know I don't really mean a word of any of this, it's just my disease rearing it's ugly head and fighting back. But I needed an outlet for all this rage, and this blog was all that was available to me.
So, you know...sorry.
But I had to, I had to take it out here, so that I don't take it out on me.
And that's called PROGRESS, mother fuckers!
I am really sorry, though.
7:30
Ugh.
Ugly, hey?
I thought about taking it down. It’s a slap in the face to all the people who love me and are supporting me through this, like M and Joshie and Wang and Ugu and my parents.
But I have decided that I need to leave it up there.
Because, let me ask you something, people who love me. Does that sound like me?
I don’t think it does. I think it sounds like Ed and Michael and all the douchebag customers who ever mistreated me and the girl in my head who wants to take revenge out on ME for shit that I NEVER HAD ANY FUCKING CONTROL OVER. That's who that fucking sounds like.
I’ve been trying really hard with the whole Ed-is-a-separate-entity-than-I thingummy, and I think I’ve been rocking it pretty well. Especially considering that when people would say stuff along the same lines in meetings, referring to their addiction as a separate entity, I would fucking gag.
Example:
Hippy: It’s your inner addict, fighting with you! She is trying to kill you!
Me (thinking): Shut up, you goddamn hippy.
But look at what I wrote! Look at the rage and the incoherent rambling and the fucking LIES and the clear path laid out to self destruction. I don’t hate everyone who loves me for wanting me to get better - far from it! I’m stunned stupid that all of you have held on for so long, and am eternally grateful that you just won't quit. I am bound and determined to repay you for staying devoted to my recovery, even when I couldn't, and when all evidence said I would never get better. You just wouldn't give up. And I wanna repay you by getting BETTER.
But look at all the shit that spewed out of my mouth! For the first time I really feel like there is a separate entity within me, one that hates my fucking guts and wants me to fucking die.
I don’t want to leave the hospital. I don’t want to dance and purge and starve again. And I don’t want a mother fucking OxyContin!
So who wrote that shit? Who is she?
And how do I kill her, before she kills me?
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