Fuck my chemically inbalanced brain. Some times there is just no better word. I am not posting this on Christmas, but saving it rather, for I do not want to upset any body on Christmas.
Here I am on Christmas, surrounded with what is supposed to be the joy of celebrating the birth of Christ. I am not hungry, concerned about finances, or even pre occupied with responsibility. I got lots of lovely gifts, including the new laptop I am writing on. I am in the best situation possible.
Yet, I am forcing myself to stay in the public eye because there is that little part of me that does care even though I couldn't care if I were dead. It is a good thing I am with my aunt and uncle and family. I want so badly to go upstairs and do away with myself. I don't want any body to find me on Christmas. Boxing day, maybe.
I want my son to have his mother, but my inbalance is getting worse, not better. They can medicate me and medicate me and medicate me again, but when it comes right down to it, the thoughts are still there. The thoughts remain the same. They just turn me into a zombie.
My uncle thinks that doctors and lawyers are prescribed something different. He is probably right, for how could a person function with NO ENERGY! How do they expect me to survive as a mom when I'm high out of my tree.
That is, however, not a plan. It's so confusing. Do you think every person that committs suicide has a plan? My feelings are just an over whelming jumble of confusion and chaos in a split second it could be done. The goal is to beat my thought process because God saved my life yet again. Therefore, I must have a larger purpose.
That's a step. Admitting I have a future. If only I believed that all the time.
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