Living On A Thin Line Pt 1

I have to be up for work in three hours, but once again, I find myself awake and consumed by thought. My mind is pulled in all different directions, but there is an underlaying depression. It's starting to crawl back into me. It's beem mounting over the past few weeks, but I've been trying to push it out of my mind, focusing on leaving for Philadelphia. Despite having that to look forward to, the feeling that all I do is take up space coats my every thought. At work my thoughts are preoccupied, my inner voice almost screaming that I don't fit in there, I'm the odd one out and that they are probably making fun of me when I'm out of the room. I feel my shortcomings (weither percieved or imagined) welling up in my veins, dragging me down. I look forward to coming home and sleeping more and more. The silence of the house is both calming and eerie. It sometimes gives me a fase sense of hope; that everything is the way it used to be. It plants the idea that when I go downstairs, there will be no yelling, throwing things or dealing with my brother's and Pookie's bullshit. Those two never stop. It's either they need money or something didn't go their way and they're pissed off. Well, I hate to tell them that not everything goes your fucking way. The stress that I'm under these days is unreal. I'm focused on my art for my upcoming projects and that serves as a better distracton than anything else. I'm working toward building something big and better. The other week I had a health scare and I felt immensely alone. It brought up not only feelings of iscolation and worthlessness, but a deep sense of loss. A sense of loss like I've not felt since Barb died. That is the stand alone moment in my life. The night she died, I felt nothing, probably relief if anything. Her suffering had ended. It's taken me a few years to finally piece together and understand true loss. I felt conflicted in feeling relief at her death. I knew that she was physically no longer here, but I failed to fully grasp what that meant. Looking back, sometimes I feel that I took the time I had with her for granted. There were days that I would opt to spend alone, just annoyed that she wanted to do things with me. We shared amazing adventures together; And the ones that she didn't go on, she would ask about. I would spend hours telling her about my travels, sharing photos and sketches with her. She gave me many of these oppertunitites and I sometimes feel that I didn't do enough to thank her. I had an allergic reaction to something last week, something that's never happened before. Most of my body was covered in a red, burning-itching rash, even my mouth, throat and lips itched and burned. I asked my mother for a ride to hopstial or a walk-in clinic to be seen and all she said was "Whats the point, they're just going to give you Benadryl." Even after I explained to her that it could be a serious reaction to one of the medications I take for bipolar disorder. I had to ask a friend to take me. Not once did she ask me if I was feeling better, alright or what was the cause of the issue. She didn't give a fuck. But of course, if it was my brother, the world would have stopped for him. Full of meds, I went to work and I preformed. Tired, still slightly itchy and conserned (as they couldn't pin point what exactly it was) about what was going on and this cunt couldn't even show up on time to pick me up. After an 11 hour day. Her constant disrespect and disregaurd for me is coming to a head. The depression and internalisation of this anger is turning to rage. I've acted on this rage before, physically and emotionally. We don't have a healthy relationship. She doesn't want one that doesn't fit her view and I'm tired of trying. Almost 31 years of this has driven me to the point of insanity. I'm just done. The columination of not feeling well, Pookie's bullshit and my brother's bullshit has left me drained. My stomach chuns as I hide under the duvet. I don't think that I can go into work. The acid in my stomach is bubbling up. It feels like I'm melting internally. It feels like it's always something lately. I can't go and try and focus with everything weighing on me. My thoughts race while my body lies still, craving sleep. Not having a full nights sleep starting to catch up with me. Under my eyes is becoing a dark purplish colour. My thoughts are clouded. My mind is preoccupied. I have too much inside me. Too much going on at once. I feel this constant pressure. It feels like I'm being driven by a motor. I lay in bed, lists of things. I want/need to do running through me. My thoughts jump from one topic to the next, I'm searching up different things on my phone, bookmarking pages that are interesting or topics that I want to read more about later. If I stop, I fail. I need to keep going...there is something inside of me forcing me to keep going. ... I just needed the day to curl up and sleep with Uggie. Just feel his warmth next to me, him curled up in my arms. Just breathing. It was so nice to sleep the day away then go out in the late afternoon for a run with him. It's funny; Things that used to matter the most to me, now don't matter at all. Those days filled with anxiety, anticipation, excitment and joy have fallen away. They've become a memory, some of them only available to me in pieces. I'm left to wonder what the blackness is hiding. Actually, nothing reall matters. I can't shake the thought that nothing matters at all, as we all die. Everything is trivial; nothing is eternal. It feels like I'm running on Coke Zero and daydreams. Sometimes I get high enough where I just sit still and feel like moving all around me. I fall backward into a sea of memory. I need to hold onto those memories of Barb; the things that we've done. I wonder what she would think about my theories on life, death and that we are so much more than the physical body. I know that she spoke to me on her fears on death, but perhaps she holds a different view point now that she's no longer trapped inside a body. For the most part, I've always felt that my inside is something sperate from my body. My internal life has very little to do with my body. Sometimes I forget that I have a body; that I am a person, something that exists on this physical plane. I wonder how my consciousness spreads across different multiverses. How it twists and turns through time and how colour changes its perceptions. How do I change? The base facts of myself stay unaltered. It's strange. When I dream, I almost never see myself. Or if I see myself, it's very different than how I actually look in reality or in my waking life. I never can dream my tattoos even though I'm covered in them. Some of the time I don't see myself with piercings, despite never taking them out. I don't have a clear notion of my apperence in my dreams or even in my thoughts. I don't really put too much stock into looks. It doesn't matter to me. I guess that's why being sick isn't bothering me. I'm not worried or concerned; I just want the itching, rash and the occasional mucus issue to go away. But being upset that something is different? No. Nothing like that really rattles me. I'm more annoyed, angry and frustrated that once again I don't even get the time of day and everything has to revolve around those cunts. I shouldn't be surprised. I don't think that I am. Am I? Maybe I'm too tired to put it all together.