i need to be institutionalized into a mental ward
at my wits end here
one of these days i'm going to run away and i really mean it. i will take a few things with me -- one of those being a nice, pleasant husband -- the kind that animals naturally gravitate towards they warm up to me. the kind you catch boiling jasmine tea in the morning.
in the last 3 days, i've been buried in my mental pits again. i'm living in my personal ring of dante’s hell, and it involves devouring at least 15,000 excess calories and feeling like a fat ass in bed, bloated to absurdity. i don't even like pizza and i will know it will make me fat and ugly . . . which means the internet will stop being nice to me. but maybe that might be for the better. sometimes it's really fucking hard to not be normal and witnessed constantly. people will be nice and sympathetic towards me (because there is always an endless supply of patience if you are pretty), but they don't ever “*get it*.”
the truth is if i get another paragraph of “you got this!” i will literally pack another 5 lbs out of spite. when has this new age gay positivity ever worked on any addict? i mean, do you know one real alcoholic that was moved by some faggot telling him he “can do it?” of course he fucking can. addicts aren't so mentally stunted that they don’t know how to put down a drink, or snub a cigarette. but it’s essentially the same thing as pressing “i'm 18” when you're thirteen and just starting to jerk it. sometimes you just need to cum even when it means rotting your brain to do it.
that isn't saying that some amount of optimism and self-imposed discipline won't fix me. i admit that a large fraction of my problems, if not *all* of my problems, can be erased if i just learned how to accept “no” with a good measure of maturity BUT the fact is that it's feels reviving, fun even, to keep entertaining my own mental ailments.
life is so boring and no matter how much i commit to all these testaments about living balanced and zen, i just keep coming back to fapping it. frying my neuro-transmitters until i'm checked out on a friday night like an idiot. people are so mentally well-adjusted that sometimes maybe there is something that went wrong about me. i don't think i endured anything truly traumatic or hard, but i mean, there are moments of my life under close inspections that i guess, could have left some wound . but if i stall on that for too long, then i'll just become another kind of idiot, the more insufferable kind: the one that needs everyone to know about their "suffrage" so they can get a pass to acting like a narcissist.
anyways, my question is -- *how the fuck is everyone so mentally well adjusted anyways?* i am stunned by my peers, who can have healthy lives and don't walk around entertaining any new bullshit. trust me, i've tried wearing my own version of a social chastity belt but i can't help that i always have a raging hard-on that likes to keep itself exposed to the public. look at me everyone i'm retarded. Har har har.
last year my therapist suggested that i become an inhouse patient. what they mean is that i should admit myself into a mental institution. of course i refuse because even i dislike coming to my own awareness that i'm not normal. if i just keep referring to it with humor and irony, it becomes ever the more permissible. but now that i'm thinking about it, it might not be such a bad thing. at least in the ward, i can sit in a circle with a similar group of open faggots, twiddle my thumbs all stuttery and gay -- and then stand in the hall, tapping my feet to invisible music like a bafoon.
i’ll even become a real sex addict, slipping into another patient’s bed midday to have audible sex on a squeaky twin-size bed mounted on wheels. close enough to a dorm if i'm unconscious already. it will be great and feral. after all, the best sex always happens when you're jobless anyways, and not afraid of looking violent and deranged.
felt this intrinsically, especially the section where you said you don’t think you’ve endured anything too traumatic or hard, but if you think about it you could name things but you don’t want to come off as a narcissist. that part especially hit home for me when i was younger, because i could never excuse to myself why i was depressed. i blame our society for this one, because though its way more normalized now to speak about these things, when we were younger we didn’t have outlets like that. we basically had the four walls around us ( our rooms ) our parents, bullies at school, and nothing else to make sense of what was going on. i didn’t feel like i could say i needed help, because how could i make it seem valid to them that i had mental health issues? still don’t, especially in our present day economy as adults, we are expected to be all these things that we can never quite obtain. i would rack through explanations and reasons in my head, trying desperately to find the words that could accurately express the internal combustion that took over periodically for seemingly no reason at all. but then more reasons began to build, as a preteen in a world that values you only for your looks and how you show up. it’s this odd dichotomy to tackle, and we were never given a rulebook on how to do it. we were thrown into a pit of vipers, forced to figure out our own way out, some days i still find myself falling back in.
and also the section about how does everyone else seem to have it together, for that i don’t think they actually do. they either just repress it, or find an addiction to get lost in. i personally have dealt with mental health issues for as long as i can remember. honestly, and no one in my personal family or circle even know, besides my one best friend who i only confided in because she dealt with mental issues in the past as well. hers were more public, it effected her whole family and i realized then that maybe i was struggling and hiding it wasn’t the best way to deal with it, but by that point id found better ways of coping, the worst seemed to be over but every now and then i will relapse. its funny, people who don’t struggle with mental illnesses, often think we are being dramatic or dishonest about our pain. its like the only way for them to believe our pain is if we had a physical wound to prove it. a lot of us do too, they just choose not the pay attention. i don’t think a lot of people have it together, most people are fucked up honestly, and i kind of like that. that we all are in this boat together while it sinks.
Never clicked on a notification so fast LOL