The next 50 years

I regret the hospital visit.  Absolutely without condition. It did me no use. First, I called not because I wanted medical attention. I called because I had been told multiple times that this was the correct course of action in the situation wherein I found myself.  I even cancelled and went another 24 hours agonizing over what to do. I called the health line multiple times trying to get permission to use the medical system as I'd been told, even though I felt unworthy. When they took me in, it started nice. They were nice. Then they did a few tests. Talked to me awhile. Got colder and colder.   The care got less effective and the therapies more invasive and unpleasant. By the 3rd day I was as miserable as I'd been all weekend and nothing was fixed nor getting fixed.  I didn't feel like I was in hostile terrority so much as an unwelcome guest in a society with hosting rules.  When I took matters into my own hands, by then, I was not an unwelcome guest, I wa...

Humans are my enemy.  Every one of them is subconsciously in accordance with the rest. This is what they want.  Me punished as deeply as a human suffer, as publicly and for as long as possible. Every one of them develops this desire after talking to me. They WANT me on east hastings getting beat up overnight and shit on all day. Non human victim for anyone's bad day. All of them want this for me. Even the ones pretending to help are part of it. It's all about keeping me alive until I land on the street then keeping my hide available for virtue signallers and bullies alike to take their narcissistic supply. I was place on this planet as fodder for narcissists and nobody cares that I don't like it.  Of cours I don't like it.  You think cows like being eaten?  Shut up and do what we want. Shutting up is the primary problem. If i could stop trying to trust someone. If i could deeply understand this truth. If I could accept that it's death or suffering. If only my ef...

I have to choose between giving up everything I own including any way of shelting or caring for myself. or my freedom and self will/choice. Wether this is going to jail or giving over to Dan. My life, as existing.  Which really looks the most attractive.  Because imaginary or not, I always hurt.  I cannot connect to the world or get enough to stave off suffering. I cannot hoppe to "dig myself out of this hole" or "pull myself up by my bootstraps" because this is absolutely beyond me.   I couldn't cope when I was young and fresh. I can't call mental health line, it won't accept numgers with an outside prefix.  Plus which, what would they do? Suicide line absolutely hung up on me. I had way too much to say.  Ultimately, I don't just want to be heard. That's what this is about, right here.  It's equal to sitting and nattering at someone who is expected to do nothing and will do nothing. But it's consequence free. Which is not the case when n...

ok, so here's what's driving me absolutely batty.  There is a disconnect between two realities. The line is my face.  On the outside of my face, it would seem that what is coming out is barf loads of static, incomprehensible and fake.  what's coming back at me is not commesurate with what I think I am sending out.  Like right now, I think I am typing grammatically correct english with a subject matter that can be understood and followed. But in fact, it might be a lot of disconnected weird statements about random things.  And when i read it back, I still see what I think I'm typing.  Inside my head, I am struggling to be as honest and clear and forthright and complete as I can.   but I'm being treated as someone who is trying to manipulate, distract, delude and I don't even know.  Lying and manipulating, though.  I just can't with this interface.  Who the fuck am I? Am i delusional? Am I locked behind some weird force that interrrup...

I really can't just go talkto someone.  Nobody wants to listen to me like that.  I mean, the blog has no choice but it's not exactly on the NYT best read blog's list.  Probably isn't one, but you know what I mean. I'm just spiralling. I do most heartily wish never again to speak to a medical professional because of today's conversation. Phrases like "all self reported."  The way he never referenced the functional assessment.  The way he had no idea what the books held. The way he kept reminding me of the time.  the way he has grown steadily more curt with me over time.   I do not believe this will ever be different with anyone trying to help me in any capacity. They give up long before they demonstrate their ire. They give up but stay polite awhile. Which I dismiss, trying to convince myself I"m imagining it.  Like how I"m going to convince myself that I'm imagining any and all physical dysfunction or discomfort. I'm dead sure he won...

I don't feel safe. I don't feel safe in the medical system because I cannot communicate with them.  I thought learning their language would work but it is another barrier. They do not hear me. They aren't listening to my words.  I don't understand it.  Then there's my complicated relationship to my body. I tell it what.  I do not let it decide.  But it is meanwhile having all manner of issues.  Or is it?  And then there's that complication.   Every doctor on earth seems to think one can make oneself feel incredibly sick without actually being sick, just by mind.  And they all think that's me. What if they're right?  Well then I simply tell my body to STFU and refuse to accommodate myself. And pretend the bad days are my fault for not eating right or smoking too much weed or being a miserable person.  Like I always have done. Almost always.  Sometimes I am stupid enough to believe the facade of caring extends deeper, and tr...

No, I'm not okay. Is it an overreaction or a recognition of a familiar pattern? Nurse practitioner is not, will not read my symptom diary. All that fucking suffering for nothing. Now what? I just remember it all? No, I quit giving a fuck. That's what. Get my disability and then, you know what?  I'm fucking fine. I don't fucking need anything from anyone. I'm fine. I'm not fine, I never will be. But so what?  Neither are the homeless guys getting beat up overnight for some sadist's pleasure. Should I go be one of them, then?  Is that a laudable choice vs giving up? Why? I do not feel safe, cared for, or heard. I do not feel like I ever will. I'm [issed because I just bought 30 eggs and now I want to go back to starving myself.  I still do not want to sign over my bus to Dan and I still see no indication that anything will change for me. Lots of kind faces does not equal action and even just getting a disability status with the ministry doesn't look al...