So the other day when I was bemoaning my lack of visitors to my nightmare, I made the decision not to participate in the Writer's Workshops any more. A friend and I had a discussion about this and I came to the conclusion that I'm still going to participate because it's therapeutic.
I have these days sometimes. Sometimes they're the product of the magnified moods produced by my illness. And sometimes...just like...gasp..."normal" people, they are situational.
My suicide ideation level yesterday was around an 8, but my intent level was only a 2. Anyone who has dealt with suicide ideation themselves knows what I mean. If I ran to the ER every time I felt suicide ideation I would have to just live there. If I took medications strong enough to eradicate my suicide ideation, I'd be a drooling zombie. The most effective approach is literally to recognize it and try and find out what it behind it.
Mostly lack of money...and being so fucking sick of grilled cheese sandwiches that if I don't get some other food soon I am going to burn down every store that fucking sells bread and Velveeta!
For those who don't know me, I am given to verbal exaggeration. I am actually a very peaceful person and have no inclinations towards committing arson. I would not do well in jail. But it does sound super cool to say I'm gonna blow something up. So much more interesting than "well, by golly, that just really chaps my hide!"
I need to go punch the time clock now (would love to punch it with a sledge hammer--I hate time clocks!) so I leave you with this image of what I did to the Velveeta factory. Note the lovely Processed Cheese Yellow.
1 comments:
I think we'd be all a lot healthier if we could vent more openly without having to consider giving offense. Too much.
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