Dead Inside

I should probably be writing.

I should always probably be writing.

But discipline, among other things, is a huge struggle for me.

I am currently waiting to hear back from the doctor. She’s a neurologist and she tested me for several things so Monday I will have a more definitive answer as to the question I ask and some of you may ask as well….

“WTF is wrong with you?”

From in here. Inside of Stacy it just feels like co stand rotting pain that never goes away. It feels like a dungeon of demons that constantly reiterate the things I’ve been told.

You’re worthless. You’re selfish. You’re lazy. You’re crazy. No one likes you.

And then on the outside, in the real world, the people around me have actions that back those words up so yeah…. it creates…pain. Just A LOT of pain.

And I guess because I don’t really talk about it. I mean, you’re not supposed to. And because I don’t cry in front of people all day. I mean, you’re not supposed to. And because I just pretend to be happy instead of sad….. I think people think I’m ok.

And I don’t really think I’m ok but…. what are you supposed to do about not being ok?

There’s literally nothing you can do. Well there’s nothing I can do.

The two most common answers are “get help” and then of course “meds” of which the latter isn’t an option for me.

And as for help, yeah I have insurance this second but when I don’t go back to work on the 18th I’ll lose it. And then we start all over.

Yeah it’s pretty shit being an aging beauty who’s no longer beautiful.

It sucks pretty hard when you have 0% interest in sex but 100% interest in just being held by a man who loves you.

The corridor I must walk though to the light at the end of my time is dark and lonely now. And I must proceed alone, sick and friendless because the people who vowed to be there for me are no longer there.

Ok well T & G are here. For now.

They don’t have women just yet. So we will see how far I drop in the ranks when they have wives and daughters.

For now, for this moment in time. I just sit on my bed and crochet. Or draw. Then later I’ll go do some Ubering so I can have a few dollars in my bank account.

And that’s ok. I’m ok.

I mean… I have to be.

Bitch what? I’m dead inside.

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