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Friday, June 12, 2009


I am forgetful. Enough to forget my medication sometimes. Maybe that's why I feel like shit right now.
But I have remembered them all these few days. I should be all right by now.
Yet, I am not all right. And I don't feel like talking about it. Talking is confrontational. I hate confrontation more than some people hate change.
My cats have lost all sensitivity to human emotion. Slinky no longer comforts me when I cry because she is used to my depressed moments.
I know I should try to let myself feel, or in my doctor's words, enjoy simple things like flowers and drinks and music. But nothing I can think of will cheer me up now. Not even ice-cream or chocolate or flowers. If I were to take out my paints and brushes and paint now, I will cry as I paint; it is too painful, painting is too lyrical, too emotive, even if it is just simple drawings.
Primary processing, primary processing. All I can spontaneously feel is pain and sadness. I am suppose to enjoy the sensory things. Smell, taste, all except touch, because I hate being touched.
I turned on music. I am not enjoying anything, music is so empty even if it is superbly performed.
I wish I still drank. Inebriation and pleasure. But I can no longer drink as much as I used to, neither should I be able to in fact.
I should let the trembling and muteness take over. Physical manifestations of sadness. Also sensory anyway.
I wonder if I hug one of my cats and rock myself in sadness how they will feel.