More Being Tired N

Just tired. It feels good to be back. To baseline. To be sad and miserable. It feels good. My parents are giving me a hard time again. It feels natural. Calling me ungrateful and spoiled. It feels right. To be back here. To be low again. It’s my baseline. I’m going to be miserable and that’s just that. I’m crying again. Silently. I feel like I learned to do that when I was a kid and knowing that crying would piss my mom off. I think. Maybe that’s just the story I tell myself. It’s pretty crazy how when you feel like this, you can remember all the horrible stuff. All the moments of pain and just general sadness. The times I spent staring at the ceiling because I just didn’t know what to do. The times when I holed myself up in my room because I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken again. All te times I was screamed at for not being a good kid. I remember all of it. All of it just seared into my skull. No matter how hard I try to sand it off or polish it out, it will always be there. It’s crazy how the first time in my life I ever felt good about myself was just because it was the product of some disease. The first time I felt special and like I could do it, it was just because I was sick. There has to be some irony in it. Some hilarious cosmic mishap that just couldn’t help doing this to me. It’s kind of amazing. Millions upon millions of years of evolution resulted in such a broken and disease riddled mind. It often feels like someone is playing a joke on me. Such a funny, happy joke. I think that’s why in my most lowest moments I can’t help but feel like laughing. Just laughing and laughing and laughing. Because if you really look at it, it is the most hilarious thing I can think of. I have one hour left. Then I leave for my appointments. All these medicines and appointments and lab tests and ER visits and behavioral centers. I remember when I was in the ER I pleaded to the nurses asking if I was a slave. Asking if I was here forever. I meant this in several parts. One to gain sympathy so that maybe she might let me out, Two because I felt like I would be a slave to circumstance and that I would never be able to overcome this, and Three because at the time I felt like a slave to machines. Even now I’m writing down my thoughts on a machine because I don’t feel safe sharing them anywhere else. I feel like a slave to a machine because the only time I ever feel comfortable is when I’m alone staring at a screen. Games, Movies, Reddit, Wikis. All of it seemed like it was designed to keep my calm. Designed to make me sane. But at the same time, I feel like it’s learning from me. I can go into the engineering of it all, but I feel like we have developed a symbiotic relationship with it. We need it and it needs us. Everything has a learning algorithm to it, so in a way it learns how to better keep us close. To keep us needing it. So, in a way, it does feel like we are a slave to it. Slave to it and incapable of ever leaving it. Even now as I write this, I can feel myself calming down. No more crying or laughing. Just calmness. I think I’m going to wash my face now. I need to get ready to pick out a therapist and to talk to the psychiatrist.