I'm having a bad case of Intrusive Thoughts, and all day I've just been thinking of the most fucking disgusting things fucking possible and I can't stop. No matter how hard I try. It's gotten to the point where I just want to beat myself till I'm unconscious or braindead, cause this shit can't keep going on.
Oh man, where to start.
I've been severely depressed for at least a week and a half. Sleeping for 13 hours, not getting out of bed. I can't find a cure either. There are things I bother myself with to forget but...forget what? What could I possibly be trying to forget here? My life? It may not be what you're saying here now but I have seen it from you before. The depressive stuff along with raised anxiety. It's truly tragic I think. For myself I know I
have to involve myself with things. I can not be controlled by the demotivation I find myself pitting against.
I really do find myself cursing anything and everything around me. The cat always wants to come in and out, all the cabinets and doors and floors in the house squeak horribly so I can't hide my presence, my sick fantasies bring me pleasure, my new bed squeaks terribly too
I can't hide, pictures and stuff put on the walls mysteriously disappear (they get broken in domestic disputes), white plaster miraculously appeared on the bathroom wall (somebody bore a hole during a domestic dispute), everyday I hear the incessant coughing of my smoke-happy guardian, I hear everything and die slowly, because my bed in a room I do not own is right beside the garage I can hear everything, they started rolling cigarettes to save money
to kill themselves so I hear the monstrous machine everyday, rolling, my Mom says she's miserable and wants to kill herself. Kill herself. My Step-Dad said go ahead. I love my family. I don't care about anybody but my brother...
Outside of the house I need to call my sister. I have to call my sister. It's the right thing to do. My Dad can't because he has a restraining order. I can't do anything...I'm weak. I came home Monday and it's Wednesday night and I still haven't. I don't want to call my sister I don't want to call my sister my sister my sister. But I have to, probably this weekend. Otherwise I'm WRONG WRONG
wrong. It doesn't matter. I can't help myself from stiffing laughter when my parents fight. That's normal right?
Why can't I find recess in peaceful serenity? Why is it always tragic calamities? I don't get it. I don't understand.
The front door is broken. I like it better this way. I can move freely in and out.