All I have for comfort right now is sex and sleep. I am uncomfortable all the time that I am awake. I am swollen and ugly and the only things that help are sex and sleep.
Food always makes me sick. There is no point to eating anymore. It makes me nauseous or swollen or it makes my stomach pain. There is no point to eating. It only hurts.
Reading is hard and difficult again. I can't seem to concentrate on the words long enough to make them a coherent thought and when I can I forget the words or meaning by the time I am on the next paragraph. It takes me probably three reads through a paragraph before I can retain it but even then it's more work than fun and often times my head spins or my eyes swell to not working so that I physically can't read. It takes all the fun out of reading.
I can write, when I can make my mind work, but I don't have anything good to write. All the things I truly feel only make others upset. No one wants to here that I'm barely making it, no one wants to hear that I don't like myself at the moment, no one wants to hear my inner thoughts. They only hurt and I don't like hurting.
I can't listen to music, either the beat matches aythmically with the wooshing in my ear and drives me nuts or I can't make heads or tails of it because of aforementioned brain fog.
The only things left are sleep and sex and both of those have been denied.
Friday, October 29, 2004