Excessive

You are not better than all of them. You are pathetic. You have no value. You are ugly. You are of no worth, and should never leave the home. You have nothing to offer anyone, and it would be best if you didn't ever open your mouth. You are pathetic and useless.

I've been having a rough time still, with work being an especially difficult hurdle in most days. Today I had to leave the kitchen and go downstairs to the lockers and I honestly didn't know if I was going down there to scream in frustration, cry in desperation or just punch the shit out of the lockers. That's just a peak into the kind of emotional shit I'm going through while I'm there.

I'm upset, very upset and I don't know why. I feel like a mental case; mental case... what a stupid phrase. What the fuck does that even mean? I write to myself in my head all day, all day, all the time, non-stop. I feel stuck in my head and tortured by paragraphs of texts, of well written internal dialogue that gets repeated with the intention of being recorded that night but quickly forgotten. I sit down to write and I basically just go, "duuuurrrr" until I get so frustrated that I give up and post some random, short, waste of space that I've been writing lately. I don't convey how I'm feeling, and worse yet, I don't convey the ideas I have, that I think about all the time, and that define me as the person I am now.

I can't breath. I'm covered in sweat and my heart is pounding so hard I fear it'll stop.

I'm not feeling very relaxed, and it's my day off. I feel ripped off, and I know that really isn't much I can do about it. When I sit down to play the banjo, I feel antsy; when I sit down to play a game, I feel distracted. When I sit down to read my book (The Ocean At The End of the Lane), I feel rushed or like I shouldn't be doing it. I didn't really feel like this earlier but it's getting worse as I finish the stuff I had originally planned. I programmed, and went grocery shopping, finished my goals for programming, and then made dinner, but that's kind of when it all fell apart.

I obviously want these entries to reflect how I'm feeling, and a sort of day-in-the-life picture of what I'm thinking and feeling and doing. I don't feel like my writing is capturing that very well recently.

I finished reading one of the many Kurt Cobain biographies last night and it was quite depressing and a little upsetting, but I enjoyed reading the book. I feel haunted by his life, his creativity, his artistic expression and his motivations are all not what the public thought and his life was such a waste, such wasted potential.

I haven't felt especially good the last couple days, and as usual, I can't really pinpoint what is causing it or really anything I can do to fix myself, but I just need to rely on Bekki to guide me along and not let myself get too low or hopeless.

I am not relaxed. I don't feel very good at all. I feel so wound up and anxious and terrible. I can't seem to take a deep breath, or even think straight.

Back in the middle of last semester, when I was both going to school full time and working full time, I was pretty close to a complete mental breakdown, and Bekki could detect this deterioration, so she went and bought me some gifts: gifts that she labeled as the "relaxation package" which contained a cinnabun, wine, and a set of relaxation things. Candle, body oil and a scented spray intended for use on a pillow. I guess I just wanted to take a second to talk about those items.