settling in

it's 1 in the morning and i can't sleep. the move has been rough. i am very tired and everything feels wrong and out of place. i've had no energy to do anything aside from surviving. hopefully i'll be out of here soon enough. i keep telling myself that this is only a temporary measure but it really doesn't feel like it. deep down, i know that if i give this city a chance i would settle in nicely, but i really don't want to. i keep thinking of this as an unwanted and short holiday. i know that's a lie.

my website is about 25% done. i have a lot of visual assets to make and a lot of j*vascript code to write. i need to find a way to write a decent comic reader and a newsletter UI for the projects that i'm planning on making, so it looks like a difficult road ahead of me. but to make a mark on my small corner of the web and keep my self integrity intact, i have to push that metaphorical boulder up the steep metaphorical hill and hope that i will make it to the top before my metaphorical muscles give in and the metaphorical boulder smears my metaphorical flesh all over the metaphorical grass for the metaphorical vultures to have a feast on. metaphorically.

i doubt a lot of what i think happened to me. i can't remember a lot of things from way back then. but whatever happened left a ton of damage behind for me to deal with, and i'm not even sure if the damage is real or not. my meds help. i'm in less pain than i used to be. less relapses too. i don't even like calling them "relapses": i'm not an alcoholic, i don't abuse substances. i'm just a dumb overgrown kid with a liking for blades. i think of myself as a poser most days. everything i do feels like a lie. for all i know, everything i am is a lie. but that metaphorical boulder will be left collecting dust at the metaphorical base of the wretched hill.

my diagnosis is yet again left up for question. i was so happy to finally have a label to understand myself through only for it to not even be accurate. i have no money for another evaluation so the neglected metaphorical boulder will have company. and the less so metaphorical people in my head will gain another pack of ammo to shoot insults at me with. as if they weren't armed enough already. i'm a fuck-up of otherworldly proportions.

thinking and pondering and contemplating and denying and undermining and ignoring and allowing myself to drown in an imaginary pool of tar for no reason other than my own complacency has become my new norm. getting out of bed and doing things is a chore. i don't feel bad, not really. if anything, i feel better than ever. i just don't really have a desire to do anything. i keep thinking of the symptoms i told my psychiatrist i had, not knowing if any of them were ever present even though i know at least some were. i keep thinking of that odd psychotic break that lasted less than two days and i wonder if i just made it up. i would know of that; i am a compulsive liar. so much so that no memory i have can ever be trusted. it all feels imaginary yet something of issue is still there. maybe i made that up too. that would make things easier. but my meds haven't turned me into a vegetable like they would a healthy person, so that has to mean something. right? right.

right. riiiiiiight.

i feel like i'm bullshitting myself.

i should sleep.