It's about time for a post me thinks.

It's been a good three months since I posted. I'm slacking.

I'm probably bored, or miserable or can't sleep. It's usually one of the three. I don't really know which one to pick; I mean, picking isn't compulsory, right?

I don't even know if anyone reads this anymore; I'm not really fussed because regardless of who does or doesn't read it, it's still pretty therapeutic? to write. I think that's the right word, but I know what I mean, on that basis, maybe it is best of nobody reads this.

My life is somewhat disintegrating beneath my feet, that sounds kinda melodramatic - I think that was the desired intention.

I'm going to be honest, I have taken more than the recomended dosage of my pain meds, and a few more. Apologies for any typos, or irrelevant stuff or whatever. And I guess if anybody does read this, that can be my perfect excuse for anything silly I write. Win. I think I am punctuating too often. Oh well.

So, life, disintegration, melodrama. Yaddayadda.

I can't help but feel like I've been left behind, y'know. Like, everyone else has brilliant plans after (their) graduation this summer; jobs, further education, whatever. I'm moving back home. With my mum. And I'm ten times more cynical since last living there; she's totally going to kill me. I'm totally going to kill her. It's going to be awful. I have no job prospects. I have nothing planned. I'm possibly not even graduating; Heaven help me if my mother discovers this fact. Death will be more imminent than initially thought.

Like, what went wrong? And when?

Okay, that's a silly set of questions but still. When did everything get this wrong so quickly?

It's already been as good as it got, and I missed it.

*gah*

I dislike the fact I'm going crazy, or at least think I'm going crazy. I say going; I should probably have used the word "gone" instead.

It's scary.

I dislike the fact I got irrationally angry and yelled at my catalyst last week.

That was even more scary and somewhat confirmed my fear of me losing my sanity.

I dislike the fact that I now don't quite know what I can say to her without making her feel useless.

I wish she didn't have to deal with my bollocks. I wish I could persuade her that it's not her job to try and fix me. But most of all, I wish I wasn't crazy in the first place because that would make everything else disappear.

I dislike the fact I feel like I should be saying all of this to her. I've had a pretty awesome week where stuff has calmed down a Hell of a lot and I didn't want to ruin it by whining about how scared I am, or bitching about how miserable I am, and apologising over and over about how guilty I feel. I wish I had sometihng specific to talk about, it's all too vague. But every time I consider it there's a change in conversation topic and the moment passes.

I need to stop being so melodramatic.

I sometimes miss being fifteen and having no choice but to deal with things on my own. I forgot how. It makes me sad that I miss it. It was a lonely existence, but it was also incredibly simple.

Nothing is simple anymore. And ironically, sometimes it's just as lonely.

12.04.1998 - 29.12.2010

I made the decision to have my dog put to sleep last week. It was the hardest decision I have probably had to ever make; apart from, maybe, when I was seven years old and had to choose which dog I wanted to keep from the litter. I chose the neurotic one with the silly face who liked hugs.

I did good.

She was rubbish at down stays and it stopped us from getting a Bronze obedience award when I was eight, and she ate my dinner once, but she cherished my Pingu plushie that I gave her and she made an awesome Rudolph when we once entered a fancy dress competition. She was awesome.

To slowly watch her get less happy and do less dog things made me sad. She used to enjoy rolling around on her back snorting and then just lying there with her tongue hanging out to the side and her teeth on show where her lips all relaxed. It was the stupidest thing ever but she did it purely for her own enjoyment. And she used to make her strange happy sound when I rubbed her ears, but when I came home for Christmas this year she had stopped doing those things. I could have waited longer before deciding it was time, but I would have only been waiting for her to get worse and that didn't appeal to me at all. She tried to eat my advent calendar the night before she went. She didn't die sad. Not completely.

She may have been a dog but she was most certainly a friend. And I miss her. And I am so desperately trying to keep it together but I am most definitely failing.

I don't quite know what to do without her.

Wtf even is a nerve modulation?

I wish I knew.

My consultant wasn't helpful.

I can't understand him. It's scary.

I did ask him but the response I got was, "Ah, I just stick a probe in your neck, there will be much bruising but the probe will affect your nerves and we experiement and see what happens".

Yeah, doesn't that sound like a fun time.

I'm shitting it a lot. Probing of the neck commences this time next week.

I've been advised not to smoke before the operation. I will be smoking. I have also been advised to sleep before the operation. I wont be sleeping. I have also been told not to worry about it. I am worrying.

I fail.

I really hope the nerve modulation doesn't.

It probably will.

Anyone fancy trading places? I think I've changed my mind.

Pass me the questionnaire.

The one that asks you how you've been feeling the past two weeks.

I can tick all the right boxes and get put on meds which mean I'm -allowed- to be a miserable sod.

I'm fed up.

I know they don't work but codeine wont kill me, and I'm not allowed any stronger meds, and who knows, lithium might come my way at some point.

*smiles hopefully*

Dear God, have I really reached this point again?

Yes.

-sigh-

My head hurts.

I've been thinking too much again. An unhealthy amount. The amount at which I begin to wonder if it really is all mine afterall, or are the crazies giving me a (not so helpful) helping hand again? Or is that just me hoping it's them offering me a hand because I don't like it and don't want it to be mine?

Gah. I can't even tell anymore.

Everything is questioned. Everything ends with a "Why?" and needs a justification. Everything. I don't kid. Everything. What I eat, to what I do, to what I think, to why am I thinking it. It's tedious. It's annoying. And I'm pretty obvious it shows.

But I can deal with that. Sure, it's annoying but it's okay.

I can't deal with the really stupid stuff. The stuff that hits a nerve. The old stuff. The stuff I've tried so ridiculously hard to remove from my head. The stuff that just wont budge. The love. The betrayal. The personal space crap. The question of genuine sanity. Gosh, how dramatic!

I don't want it constantly swimming around my head getting questioned over and over. I want it gone. I almost managed it before, why the fuck can't I do it again?

It's that time of year again.

September. I can't stand September. It's a vile month. It's a mutual thing though, so I guess that makes it okay. And as per usual (and as expected) everything seems to have turned to shit once again. It's an annual thing though, so I guess that makes it okay.

Five years since my oh so wonderful nerve condition began. As of yesterday. Wonderful. And just to rub salt in the wound all has flared up again and still no word on my nerve modulation. Wonderful. I'm quite peeved about this.

My university are also fucking me about. Joy. It's a rather complicated situation, which is equally frustrating. A wonderful Catch 22 scenario to be precise. Not enough credits to enrol for third year, but I need to enrol for third year to pick up extra modules. I was told this was fine last semester but apparently they have now changed their minds and nobody really knows what is going on; least of all me. Idiots.

I'm also considering a frontal lobotomy, so if anybody knows of anywhere good please let me know. It's getting a little silly now.

And just to make things worse, I have no cigs so decided it was time to use to baccy. It's a year old. I didn't care, at least not until half way through when I suddenly noticed a rather pungent smell somewhat similar to mouldy dog fart. A word of warning; avoid year old baccy. It's not great.

What a wonderful post to make having neglected my blog for two months.

My mother and the (somewhat relaxed) Internet King are visiting tomorrow though, I'm quite looking forward to this.

And I have a house. This can only be good.