For a while,
after that day in October of 2014 I'd imagined my 'ego' had died and Adderall had been the only thing left to replace it.
I didn't know, and I'd immediately forgotten.
The only reason I'd written so much more is because I'd started taking my Adderall again on the 25th of September. If I hadn't, I can't imagine I'd have ever-
I felt dead without it.
Rain flooded the sidewalks into the street. Leaving without becoming drenched myself looked impossible. Without an umbrella, a jacket, and with the rain continuing to beat down all around me left me stuck under the canopy outside the library's entrance.
After waiting for the better part of an hour for the rain to die down, three of The Church Boys had gotten back to me offering a ride, to my surprise.
Stefany had texted back too. Checking the message was the last thing I wanted to do after seeing what the message preview had shown me.
I'd read it, heard it, watched it, and lived it a hundred times over.
Adversity to reading the text was hateful, though, so I put on my good Christian cap and opened up the text.
All I could do was and is apologize until I'd turned my life around.
My feet had gone numb and cold from squatting next to the wall while it rained. Adderall tended to have an adverse effect on one's circulation.
Adverse effect, I mused. I really said 'fucked with'.
A kind middle aged black woman offered me a ride home to which I politely declined.
Eventually my ride came through and drove me to the gathering while I regurgitated 'my story' from '14 to '17. Being so honest felt disgusting at times, like being naked. TMI, bro! You know?
Choosing to come to this pastor's house over going to the ADTR concert was easily much more difficult to blend in with, I felt, but my conscience had determined I'd made the right decision.
Which one of you is our conscience? The teacher of the classroom turned from the chalkboard to the class. The room fell silent and all of the student's heads swiveled from left to right looking for their answer. No one could find the conscience.
Kirk mentioned to me he felt like he'd have rather left for the concert than be there. I didn't feel like I'd made a mistake, but I'd felt like condemning the concert in my mind, which I'd secretly done, had been unwarranted.
Choosing not to go wasn't about the concert being wrong, it was about having someone else pay for my ticket that didn't sit right with me.
I felt weakly confident.
The entire evening was secret torture. I struggled with every glance and conversation, deeming I'd been cursed to make everyone believe that when I'd speak to them I was infinitely intrigued by what they were telling me.
Rightly, I was, but I hadn't meant anything by it.
Flash forward,
Pete, my ride, and I were on our way back. We were talking about something or another, or maybe this conversation had been with Manny. I hadn't the slightest clue.
Anyways, the topic had been relating to when someone either initiates a relationship or comes to Church. They'd said something about everyone having intent when they chose to do so.
Introspection,
Sure, I strongly agreed with the statement. Whenever I was faced with socializing at work I neglected to do so because I was there to work not socialize and to initiate frivolous chit-chat was misleading. However, what I didn't like was that once an intent had been established, I felt that frivolous chit-chat was indeed a component of social gatherings.
I could've been, or still currently be, completely wrong. Every other time I'd thought someone was simply talking to me for no reason other than to talk and shoot the breeze, I'd been wrong.
Epiphany,
People didn't typically talk to one another, go anywhere, or do anything, without intent.
It made me feel disgusting and disgusted by myself and everyone I'd known or ever met.
I sat awkwardly watching the young people (there certainly weren't old) play board and card games. I paid attention to everyone's dress, mannerisms, fingers (indicating how many of these people were married), all while I sat in silence.
Xanax.
Tomorrow was the seventh and I'd been looking forward to it. I remembered watching Dr. House on Netflix and relating to his exaggerated med-head antics. My Xanax prescription was refilling, and I couldn't be more ready for it.
Did you know that if you replace the 'x's in XANAX with 'n's and vice versa, then twist that lonely X sideways, and leave the last N an N and flip the first N 45 degrees clockwise and then turn it over it looks like it says SATAN?
A girl named Sadie came and sat by me and began chatting to me about all sorts of things. I liked it, but I was sure even before I'd heard the conversation about intent that there was some reason she'd came and sat by me other than imagining I'd been the best candidate to tell about her socks, her day at work, and how she'd like to change clothes every 7 hours.
Dread seeped into my forethought while I enjoyed being infinitely happy that someone was talking to me about themselves. I loved getting to know people, but was awful at it, as most conversations I'd make turned into interrogations.
Happiness, because someone seemed like they wanted to share things with me, rather than wanting me to share with them.
Dread, because that person was a girl, and while I fancied the idea of having TELL ME ABOUT YOUR SOCKS AND OTHER CLOTHING RELATED HABITS written on my forehead, unless the girl simply introduced herself that way to anyone, the only two other options were I looked horridly lonely or socially inept and one I didn't want to acknowledge.
One that I didn't want to acknowledge because I was certain that 'intent' would dissolve the moment she'd learn a bit more about me.
She asked me if I'd wanted to play ping-pong, or rather if I was good at it. I'd remembered playing and winning before, but only vaguely.
I said maybe.
Ehlers got the best of me, just like it did whenever I attempted something I hadn't done in a long time, and I played horribly.
What did you mean, MAYBE?! The girl seemed frustrated I played so poorly.
I felt disappointed in myself for failing to impress, even though I hadn't cared about it minutes earlier. I fought back the urge to say, "I have a condition!" or "I'm not always awful!" or "Sometimes I do things very well! Let me explain!" but I refrained.
Nice to meet you, too! I'm disease and I have an Eric. It wasn't a good first impression. It only begged sympathy and understanding, one that was very difficult to feel for me and one that was nearly impossible for most people to do.
CVS/pharmacy: Eric, your Rx order is ready at-
Brad, not Brady, flaunted his talents he'd acquired from a Ping-Pong table residing in his break room. He looked confident, and if I'd met a version of him that wasn't a devout Christian, I'd assumed he'd be either a frat-boy or a fuck-boy. Thank you, God, that I met the version You inspired.
Brad, not Brady asked me about my week after his game, and then I continued to make conversation with Sadie. I'd forgotten if I'd mentioned to Brad that I'd attempted to kill myself the week before initially coming to their Church, so I said it nonchalantly in the conversation when he'd ask if I'd seen my daughter.
I told him I lived with my roommates two girls and he asked if they lived in the house, too. I could see gears shifting in his head where thoughtful yet wary analysis of me seemed to have begun taking place.
I continued to enjoy the conversation with Sadie. Bittersweet tastes entered my mind as I foreshadowed the inevitable change of disposition that would surely occur once she really knew me.
I loved beginnings, first impressions, getting to know someone and the like. They were always short, simple, and polite.
On the way home, Pete's story resonated within a part of me that had still been alive years ago. I felt like it would've been nice to know him, then, because all of the things it sounded like he'd gone through were very familiar to me.
I made him laugh, however, when I told him that I'd related, but that I'd clearly taken several drastic nosedives towards the dark side since that point.
Stefany texted me that it had sucked to suck. She didn't reply after that. I'd already known I was going to miss seeing the pumpkin patch with her and Amelia and felt sourly about it.
Merry messaged me on Facebook asking me if I'd gone to hang out with Manny, the same way she had when supposedly everyone had gone to see a movie.
It was nice seeing her name, a poetic dance around happy words, but her question made me falter.
Why? I wanted to ask. I wanted to get into that happy little head of hers and understand how it worked. I didn't like feeling like I wanted to do that.
Paranoid, I assumed she'd already known. I assumed that she'd known I was going and that's why she hadn't gone, but that seemed too far-fetched.
My inner thirst for chaos wasn't Christian at all, so ignored all of that. I ignored every thought that begged for controversy and conflict.
"Yes," was all I could say. Not 'yeah', not anything casual. My stomach turned over. I hated that I still thought so much about such petty, simple things.
Xanax.
The next day I still found the petty things to bother me.
Benzodiazepines work by enhancing the effect of the GABA neurotransmitters.
I didn't want to ask anyone for a ride to Church because Pete had already said he wouldn't be able to and Manny had asked me if I'd be able to go, and to let him know if I needed a ride, which I'd interpreted as I really hope you find a ride to Church tomorrow if you're going!
Xanax binds to a certain part of the GABA receptors.
I'd decided I was going to walk there. It would easily take me four hours, but it sounded better than asking everyone for a ride, again, making them drive me home, and besides. I had the whole day off.
The GABA compound is the chief inhibitory compound in the nervous system.
I was looking forward to heading to the pharmacy and picking up my Xanax. If I ran into someone who and which might inadvertently lead me to a panic attack, I wanted to be ready. However, that wasn't the only reason.
Xanax.
There was one thing above all I was eagerly looking forward to:
Not feeling anything.
Next
after that day in October of 2014 I'd imagined my 'ego' had died and Adderall had been the only thing left to replace it.
I didn't know, and I'd immediately forgotten.
The only reason I'd written so much more is because I'd started taking my Adderall again on the 25th of September. If I hadn't, I can't imagine I'd have ever-
I felt dead without it.
Rain flooded the sidewalks into the street. Leaving without becoming drenched myself looked impossible. Without an umbrella, a jacket, and with the rain continuing to beat down all around me left me stuck under the canopy outside the library's entrance.
After waiting for the better part of an hour for the rain to die down, three of The Church Boys had gotten back to me offering a ride, to my surprise.
Stefany had texted back too. Checking the message was the last thing I wanted to do after seeing what the message preview had shown me.
I'd read it, heard it, watched it, and lived it a hundred times over.
Adversity to reading the text was hateful, though, so I put on my good Christian cap and opened up the text.
All I could do was and is apologize until I'd turned my life around.
My feet had gone numb and cold from squatting next to the wall while it rained. Adderall tended to have an adverse effect on one's circulation.
Adverse effect, I mused. I really said 'fucked with'.
A kind middle aged black woman offered me a ride home to which I politely declined.
Eventually my ride came through and drove me to the gathering while I regurgitated 'my story' from '14 to '17. Being so honest felt disgusting at times, like being naked. TMI, bro! You know?
Choosing to come to this pastor's house over going to the ADTR concert was easily much more difficult to blend in with, I felt, but my conscience had determined I'd made the right decision.
Which one of you is our conscience? The teacher of the classroom turned from the chalkboard to the class. The room fell silent and all of the student's heads swiveled from left to right looking for their answer. No one could find the conscience.
Kirk mentioned to me he felt like he'd have rather left for the concert than be there. I didn't feel like I'd made a mistake, but I'd felt like condemning the concert in my mind, which I'd secretly done, had been unwarranted.
Choosing not to go wasn't about the concert being wrong, it was about having someone else pay for my ticket that didn't sit right with me.
I felt weakly confident.
The entire evening was secret torture. I struggled with every glance and conversation, deeming I'd been cursed to make everyone believe that when I'd speak to them I was infinitely intrigued by what they were telling me.
Rightly, I was, but I hadn't meant anything by it.
Flash forward,
Pete, my ride, and I were on our way back. We were talking about something or another, or maybe this conversation had been with Manny. I hadn't the slightest clue.
Anyways, the topic had been relating to when someone either initiates a relationship or comes to Church. They'd said something about everyone having intent when they chose to do so.
Introspection,
Sure, I strongly agreed with the statement. Whenever I was faced with socializing at work I neglected to do so because I was there to work not socialize and to initiate frivolous chit-chat was misleading. However, what I didn't like was that once an intent had been established, I felt that frivolous chit-chat was indeed a component of social gatherings.
I could've been, or still currently be, completely wrong. Every other time I'd thought someone was simply talking to me for no reason other than to talk and shoot the breeze, I'd been wrong.
Epiphany,
People didn't typically talk to one another, go anywhere, or do anything, without intent.
It made me feel disgusting and disgusted by myself and everyone I'd known or ever met.
I sat awkwardly watching the young people (there certainly weren't old) play board and card games. I paid attention to everyone's dress, mannerisms, fingers (indicating how many of these people were married), all while I sat in silence.
Xanax.
Tomorrow was the seventh and I'd been looking forward to it. I remembered watching Dr. House on Netflix and relating to his exaggerated med-head antics. My Xanax prescription was refilling, and I couldn't be more ready for it.
Did you know that if you replace the 'x's in XANAX with 'n's and vice versa, then twist that lonely X sideways, and leave the last N an N and flip the first N 45 degrees clockwise and then turn it over it looks like it says SATAN?
A girl named Sadie came and sat by me and began chatting to me about all sorts of things. I liked it, but I was sure even before I'd heard the conversation about intent that there was some reason she'd came and sat by me other than imagining I'd been the best candidate to tell about her socks, her day at work, and how she'd like to change clothes every 7 hours.
Dread seeped into my forethought while I enjoyed being infinitely happy that someone was talking to me about themselves. I loved getting to know people, but was awful at it, as most conversations I'd make turned into interrogations.
Happiness, because someone seemed like they wanted to share things with me, rather than wanting me to share with them.
Dread, because that person was a girl, and while I fancied the idea of having TELL ME ABOUT YOUR SOCKS AND OTHER CLOTHING RELATED HABITS written on my forehead, unless the girl simply introduced herself that way to anyone, the only two other options were I looked horridly lonely or socially inept and one I didn't want to acknowledge.
One that I didn't want to acknowledge because I was certain that 'intent' would dissolve the moment she'd learn a bit more about me.
She asked me if I'd wanted to play ping-pong, or rather if I was good at it. I'd remembered playing and winning before, but only vaguely.
I said maybe.
Ehlers got the best of me, just like it did whenever I attempted something I hadn't done in a long time, and I played horribly.
What did you mean, MAYBE?! The girl seemed frustrated I played so poorly.
I felt disappointed in myself for failing to impress, even though I hadn't cared about it minutes earlier. I fought back the urge to say, "I have a condition!" or "I'm not always awful!" or "Sometimes I do things very well! Let me explain!" but I refrained.
Nice to meet you, too! I'm disease and I have an Eric. It wasn't a good first impression. It only begged sympathy and understanding, one that was very difficult to feel for me and one that was nearly impossible for most people to do.
CVS/pharmacy: Eric, your Rx order is ready at-
Brad, not Brady, flaunted his talents he'd acquired from a Ping-Pong table residing in his break room. He looked confident, and if I'd met a version of him that wasn't a devout Christian, I'd assumed he'd be either a frat-boy or a fuck-boy. Thank you, God, that I met the version You inspired.
Brad, not Brady asked me about my week after his game, and then I continued to make conversation with Sadie. I'd forgotten if I'd mentioned to Brad that I'd attempted to kill myself the week before initially coming to their Church, so I said it nonchalantly in the conversation when he'd ask if I'd seen my daughter.
I told him I lived with my roommates two girls and he asked if they lived in the house, too. I could see gears shifting in his head where thoughtful yet wary analysis of me seemed to have begun taking place.
I continued to enjoy the conversation with Sadie. Bittersweet tastes entered my mind as I foreshadowed the inevitable change of disposition that would surely occur once she really knew me.
I loved beginnings, first impressions, getting to know someone and the like. They were always short, simple, and polite.
On the way home, Pete's story resonated within a part of me that had still been alive years ago. I felt like it would've been nice to know him, then, because all of the things it sounded like he'd gone through were very familiar to me.
I made him laugh, however, when I told him that I'd related, but that I'd clearly taken several drastic nosedives towards the dark side since that point.
Stefany texted me that it had sucked to suck. She didn't reply after that. I'd already known I was going to miss seeing the pumpkin patch with her and Amelia and felt sourly about it.
Merry messaged me on Facebook asking me if I'd gone to hang out with Manny, the same way she had when supposedly everyone had gone to see a movie.
It was nice seeing her name, a poetic dance around happy words, but her question made me falter.
Why? I wanted to ask. I wanted to get into that happy little head of hers and understand how it worked. I didn't like feeling like I wanted to do that.
Paranoid, I assumed she'd already known. I assumed that she'd known I was going and that's why she hadn't gone, but that seemed too far-fetched.
My inner thirst for chaos wasn't Christian at all, so ignored all of that. I ignored every thought that begged for controversy and conflict.
"Yes," was all I could say. Not 'yeah', not anything casual. My stomach turned over. I hated that I still thought so much about such petty, simple things.
Xanax.
The next day I still found the petty things to bother me.
Benzodiazepines work by enhancing the effect of the GABA neurotransmitters.
I didn't want to ask anyone for a ride to Church because Pete had already said he wouldn't be able to and Manny had asked me if I'd be able to go, and to let him know if I needed a ride, which I'd interpreted as I really hope you find a ride to Church tomorrow if you're going!
Xanax binds to a certain part of the GABA receptors.
I'd decided I was going to walk there. It would easily take me four hours, but it sounded better than asking everyone for a ride, again, making them drive me home, and besides. I had the whole day off.
The GABA compound is the chief inhibitory compound in the nervous system.
I was looking forward to heading to the pharmacy and picking up my Xanax. If I ran into someone who and which might inadvertently lead me to a panic attack, I wanted to be ready. However, that wasn't the only reason.
Xanax.
There was one thing above all I was eagerly looking forward to:
Not feeling anything.
Next
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