and again

I’ve written a lot of manic poetry in this diary. I really discourage anyone reading this from reading it because looking back on it I think it’s all pretty terrible but it’s there (you can find it pretty easily, it’s any entry ending with a “.”), a snapshot of my life and my mind as it was spiraling out of control.

I’m actually pretty hesitant to go back and look at much of anything because I just don’t think it’s worth much. That’s probably just my self-esteem talking. I’m really making an effort here to get back into writing, even if I don’t think it’s very good, because I think it may have some therapeutic value. Unfortunately, as is most of the time, I just don’t have a lot to say.

I really feel like the medication I take, while it keeps me sane (mostly), has really sapped all the energy from my mind. I find myself just kind of dull, unable to carry on simple conversations with people or to really convey to others that yes, I am an interesting human being and my thoughts and words have significant value. I really think it’s the anti-psychotic medication I’ve been on for the past two years. It makes me noticeably tired throughout the day and, like I said, I just feel kind of dull.

I have a terrible job. It’s not really all that terrible, at least I don’t mind it (I deliver pizza) but the hours just don’t line up with the rest of my friends’ jobs and I find myself just drifting farther and farther away from the people I care about. I wake up usually about 4-4:30 pm and go to bed sometime around 5-6 am working every weekend. This used to be ok for awhile but after almost 6 years I’m ready for something new. I want to watch football with my friends and go out with them on the weekends. I don’t really feel like I’m asking too much.