I'm having a bad week. I'm suicidal. The thought of a gun to the head is relaxing. I can't write, even on this blog it takes an extra effort to write. Even the thought of going to see Jess tomorrow doesn't get me excited. I sit at the house working on the book, and nothing comes out good enough or even at all. I try to read and become even more depressed. I listen to music and cry because the singer killed himself. Not just Kurt Cobain. I watch stand up comedy and cry because the stand up comic died from OD of Heroin. Why can't I just OD. Days and nights are boring me to death. My friends are all far away. I'm getting the blues listening to Lead Belly.
This switch to Suboxone didn't make me cycle, it just through me into a deep dark depression. Not even a mania to enjoy first. The one upside to being bi polar and I miss out on that. Sure I might have a date that I met on the Internet, but who knows he might be a crazy serial killer. He's a stand up comic. He travels all the time, so I wouldn't be able to see him that much anyway. He has a job, but he losing it and will be moving back to Janesville, which is far away. So he has a car which means he can come visit me, but where...at my parents house. Yeah sex will be so much fun while my parents sit in the next room knowing whats going on in there.
I need Heroin to live. At least Methadone, but Methadone made me fat. I have to remind myself that I'm going through all this to loose weight. Beauty is pain. Vanity is hellish. I'm doing all this to get a man to fall in love with. Why do men have to be such assholes an be such visual animals. I hate being ugly and fat. I hate myself and want to die.