On the table beside are my totems for a night of blogging:
- Ibuprofen, to kill my headache.
- Water, with which to swallow the Ibuprofen.
- Red Bull, caffeine to complement the Ibuprofen.
- Lexapro, because.
After last week’s fuck-up with Zispin, I’ve gone back to wondering if I’ll ever be fixed. Not just depression fixed. Fixed fixed. I stare at people when they try to strike up a conversation, refuse to make eye contact, suffer the burning surety that I will never be accepted, so why bother? Where I had really felt myself begin to open up with other people I’ve fallen back on the grand old simultaneous hungering for contact and fear of contact.
I’m back to playing the martyred outsider.
Categorised as: regular