March 2012
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shut up you condescending prick you're giving...
there’s only so long i can keep my temper in check before i turn around and beat you to death with my shoe.
February 2012
6 tags
today, my life goes as follows:
wake up, meditate, smoke a square, drink coffee with a double shot of espresso, and i’m off.
9 am is my biochem class. i’ll sit right in front and furrow my brow at the power points because jesus fucking christ this shit is confusing. then again, 90% of studying for a medical career is just memorizing everything ever.
i’ll walk away with a headache and frantically made flash...
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there’s this woman who i work with, with fire red hair carefully dyed, wrinkles all over her face. she’s old now, her kids are grown. and she is one of my favorite people on the planet.
whenever i go in to work she’s happy to see me. “anna, how are you?”
and i’ll always smile because her work lanyard is covered with swag: a giant button reading ally next to a...
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my roommates agree that my downstairs neighbors might not like the ridiculously loud clacking (is that the right word for this sound? what’s the word for the borderline between clacking and clanging?) of my typewriter.
shits will not be taken. fucks will not be given.
i do what i want.
today i was video taped while a psych grad student interviewed me for a study on mood disorders and...
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my feet hurt.
my brain hurts. my eyes hurt.
another fulfilling day at work, opening and closing the store. a full day of laying my head against a marble counter wishing i didn’t have to work extra shifts to make rent and pay my bills.
one day this’ll be a fun story to tell my kids so they can roll their eyes at me and feel privileged.
or something.
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“ay yo, you got any more small baggies?” “yea. i just gotta straighten up all this and i’ll find them.” my roommate pokes his head into my room and surveys the borderline hoarding that i’ve been conducting in it.“whoa. yea, that is pretty bad.” i don’t care. i’ve got places to be. beverages to consume. herbs to smoke. “yea well,...
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“that sounds like a really distressing situation, but i noticed there isn’t any self-harm on your diary card so that’s good. how did you handle what happened?”
sometimes it’s hard to remember i’m not supposed to act on my anger. i screamed. i tore at my hair. then struggled to breathe while popping way too many klonopin and hiding out at my dealers house where...
2 tags
my therapist speaks really softly when he thinks i’m uncomfortable.
it makes me uncomfortable.