No really, who gives a flying fuck?
I was supposed to get bloodwork this morning. I fasted and set my alarm and everything.
Then I couldn't get out of bed.
I tried about every thirty minutes or so for three hours and then just fucking gave up- slept for a couple more hours, then had a banana and cried.
Because the banana sucked and I suck and everything sucks.
There's a chance another store, of the same company I just worked for, may hire me on.
At least it's something I usually feel successful at.
I went to my old store today to pick u my check, only to find out that despite what they had told me [that I should come pick it up and they would not be mailing it out] that they had mailed it out.
To my legal address.
I *live* in MA.
The HR manager kind of looked at me like "Not my problem bi-otch".
I STILL can't get my fluvoxamine.
This is two weeks now. Maybe longer.
It doesn't matter.
It SO doesn't matter. Because I'm not going to be allowed to be on the high doses that are really necessary for me to be anywhere approaching normal, not with this pdoc.
I'm also sad for absolutely no reason at all.
A large party of me is sad JUST BECAUSE.
That is so frustrating.
I don't know. It's difficult because I'm kind of functional. Sort of, when i can make it out of bed.
I mean I might want to die but if you tell a good joke it won't be lost on me.
I think that confuses people.
it confuses me.
Am I SUPPOSED to just be miserable straight for days on end?
Even when i was suicidal I still maintained a fair sense of humour.