15 August 2011

Upstanding Member of Society

I'm still experiencing mixed episodes. I'm getting so sick of the lows, sick of my own thoughts, memories, dreams (when I can sleep) and this messed up sleep pattern I've found myself in... awake at 5 p.m. asleep at 6 a.m. I'm sick of being in my own skull, my own skin. I'm sick of being me. I'm sick of never catching a break.

I'm unemployable, even without the piercings. If I could land a job I wouldn't be able to hold it down and attend college at the same time... hell I just wouldn't be able to hold it down. Even the nurse practitioner/therapist said I'd have a hard time holding down jobs.

I can't get help in the form of disability (trying for the 3rd time but not holding my breath) or vocational rehabilitation since you have to have a job for voc rehab to help you. I don't have the GPA (thanks bipolar) to work on campus 20 hours a week. I need to concentrate on classes this semester. I need a 3.5 every semester from here on out. I need to retake some F's and D's which means waiting around for the classes to be offered again. I'm never going to graduate.

I haven't heard from Dave for over a week, closer to two. He knows it drives me nuts when he doesn't call me, and I end up rummaging through all of the obituaries I can find just to see if his name is in there. I thought he understood the hell it puts me through to not hear from him, and how it makes me feel like I'm just a piece of ass to him, nothing important, nobody worthy of his love, nobody worthy of a phone call just to say hi, I'm OK.

I'm looking forward to classes starting up again, but I'm also reserved. It isn't a matter of "if" the bipolar is going to kick in and wreak havoc on my classes, it's a matter of "when." I need to work on revising my autobiography and try to get it published within a year too. I need to work on my historical fictions. I need to work on my epic poem about Boudicca's revolt. I need to do a lot of things.

I need to be a part of society, but that's never going to happen. I'm always going to be an outsider, a loser, the one who falls through every left-wing crack known to man. If Dad were to keel over tomorrow I'd be on the streets, homeless, jobless, with no chance of getting a job. All because I had to be born fucked in the head.

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