It was probably a dude, which makes him a double dick.

That godforsaken moment when you can’t figure out if you are actually in crisis or you’re just cycling way too fast.

So I need a distraction.  Ask me anything?

There’s this hardcore wimp aussie that this kid showed me on youtube (the guy who showed me it hacked into the mainframe and overrode the youtube block of our wifi like a fucking hardcore dickmonger, so he gets kudos) and I cannot stop laughing.  I thought I was ridiculous… like seriously.  THE MORE YOU KNOW.

Hey, did y’all know that there’s a serial killer called the texas eyeball killer?

I think he’s gonna become my idol.  Let’s laugh at my insanity and dance around a fire pit while tearing out our own beating hearts.  Sound like a plan?

For a moment there I was typing without spaces and it was the trippiest damn thing I’ve ever done.

Lewis is really fucking excited about what he calls my ‘personal treatment party’.  Basically, because I can’t do medications, he’s been researching all these non-fucking-modern treatments for bipolar… and the shit he’s coming up with is weird as all fuck.  But on to the chill part of my day—he got me these noise-cancelling headphones and some mp3 tracks that have beats at my supposed resting heart-rate, and all I had to do this afternoon was sit there all calm.  That shit it fucking amazing—calmed me right the fuck down.  I was like falling asleep.

Then throwing up in a trash can for five minutes because that’s what happens when you exircise after thirty or so hours of no sleep!

Haha, everybody’s awake now.  Lewis, Aretha, Wilcox, even Jeremy because Wilcox was a douche and told him what my deal was and he wanted to stay awake and help.

I just need to get my head straight.  That’s all I need right now.  Not tea, not more running (although I want to), not food (ughh).  I just need stability.

But of course, I can’t have it, so Aretha is making me tea instead, no matter the fact that I fucking don’t want tea.

So there it is: me in a goddamn nutshell.  Everybody go home now—the fun of watching William fall apart is over for now.  I’ll get back to you.

Except it was mostly paint labels and old catalogues.  BECAUSE I WAS BORED. *facepalm*  Eh, whatever.  Not that I’ve got anything important in my life to do (you know, important like treatment/recovery…eh what?).

I have no illusions that I’ll sleep (probably just lie there with my headphones on and the volume set to ‘kill on impact’) but I WILL get to bed.  Reasonably.  I think.

I hate mornings.  I don’t want to think about how many paintings I’ve ruined the last few days after I couldn’t sleep and got up at six in a fit of rage.

Don’t mine me here—just fucking loosing my shit over nothing in particular.

Holy hell in a harmonious handbasket.  I’ve done literally NOTHING since, like, two o’clock this afternoon but lay here and listen to music, and STILL I feel like I’m dying.

I apologize for not responding to anybody.  Namely Ana and Ricky—sorry guys.  Just having one of those days—did I tell you I’m hallucinating?  At least I hope I’m hallucinating… otherwise there’s about three million wasps tailing me wherever I go.  But it’s no big deal.  Happens all the time.

Anyway.  Just been here on the floor all day.  Can’t sleep, don’t want to talk, can’t do much else—even music is a strain right now, and I don’t get it.  It’s like there’s this well of energy just bottled up inside of me, but it won’t go anywhere, it’s just sitting there behind the scenes buzzing at me.  Hence the wasps.

Anyway.  The werewolf is in the quiet room—he’s in pain from his meds and probably won’t be back for a while.  I, on the other hand, am stuck here.  So I’m going to continue wearing my eardrums down to nubs with my arms thrown across my face, hoping that my heart will collapse.  I’ll see y’all tomorrow, if I’m still alive.

Too many acid dreams.  Does anyone else have really funky dreams when they haven’t been sleeping well?  Or is it just me?