I don’t know how smartly I am handling the concoctions, the cocktails of blood pressure and anxiety meds in cahoots with the drinking. Last night I felt chest pressure. Not pain, exactly. But discomfort. It eased on its own, before washing it with beers and vodka.
I wanted to go to the bar, but I chickened out. I circled, swooped, observed from outside. The woman I think I am interested in was not there. I think my interest in her is possibly misguided. She has a lot of stuff going on but somehow remains single. No bias or anything but she seems like quite a catch.
I took a full 2mg of Lorazapam today. Just 1mg yesterday. That may have contributed to the weirdness. I considered the emergency room. But when you work you just can’t go away for 3 days.
I’m so special. Right? I’m different from the rest. Worth keeping around no matter what.
Am I even alive? Sentient? In control of my actions and emotions? I barely feel the shirt touching my body.
Thanksgiving is soon and I do not even care.
I might have to hurt somebody. Hurt somebody.
The romance between the cashier and me is over, it seems.
There is a woman who who would likely never guess that I have fantasies about her. Mostly soft, traditional, laughing and fucking and being alive. But those fantasies give way to sadness, the abrupt drainage of passions turned to vomit. I think she is older than me but not certain.
I also take the beta blocker pill at night now. I never used to do that. But the bottle says twice daily, so… It’s just that I’m loaded up on booze at night.
Want my old life back. When can I have it back? I like it here. Love it, even. But I want my old life back.
