I need to get my head back on. in The grotesque metamorphosis of a Bi-Polar human into a Tri-polar monster.

I can’t even remember how long ago it was that I decided to take a four day road trip up to Portland to go get my guitars and paintings, but I feel like it couldn’t have been longer than a week or two ago…I have kind of lost all of my perception of time lately.

I know that a large part of this is the fact that I have been drinking every single day for the last week or so, maybe even longer. Maybe it’s been two weeks.

I haven’t even been light drinking either, I’ve been getting fucking drunk.
It’s not good. My car broke down towards the end of my massive road trip and it just sent me into a spiral of “fuck it’s” that seemed to perfectly time out with my quarterly manic episode that is almost entirely comprised of “fuck it’s” always…it’s a true shit show.

So…I got on my computer to maybe do some coding, maybe look at some porn, definitely write an entry on here before work about how my life is falling apart at the seems like it does every three months like clockwork and although I never fucking die it always feels like I’m going to and like I should.

I’ve had a lot of fun the last few days and I’ve felt suicidal through all of it.

I went to my doctor yesterday and it was determined that I am in a certain amount of “distress” and so it was deemed a wise decision to up my dose from 40mg to 60mg, which is now half of the maximum dose that someone can safely consume…I guess I like to live dangerously. Or safely? I can’t tell anymore.

Anti-psychotics are a hell of a thing.

I’m extremely hungry and I think I missed my dose last night.
I need to start flossing my teeth more regularly.
I need to stop drinking so I stop passing out before I brush my teeth at night.
I also need to stop drinking so that I can keep track of my days and the way I spend my time and money.
I also need to stop drinking so that I can get a handle on learning how to code so I can stop being such a pathetic piece of shit loser and move out into my own place again and get some cats and stop feeling so damn alone.

If I can’t find a woman to love me, I at least want to buy some cats and brainwash them into believing that existence with me is the only existence possible so that they will develop Stockholm Syndrome, or at THE VERY LEAST rely on me for food, so I can say “Hey look, something loves me.” when in reality I know that love is merely the name we give a chemical reaction and animals might not even have the same chemical reactions because if I were to die alone in my apartment my fictional cats would eat me probably within the first day of running out of food.

love is not real.

Trying to live is hard.
I just want to die already.