I think I knew that it was an official nervous breakdown this last Friday.
That was the day that I shaved off all of my hair and beard and then spent five hours or so in the bathtub.
It was confirmed as a nervous breakdown yesterday when my shiny head and I spent the majority of my friend's wedding sitting alone in the parking lot killing a pint of whiskey.
I wanted it to be the explosive kind of nervous breakdown; the type where I take all of my clothes off in a public place and go swimming in a fountain. Instead, it's the pretty typical type; the kind where one just sleeps and cries a lot.
It's really the most boring type of nervous breakdown there is.
It's been a long time coming. The two years of chronic pain, the months of increasing isolation and loneliness, the all encompassing poverty that has been brought on by my inability to work.
The tipping point just happened to be that after a long and frustrating process of applying for disability and welfare and food stamps�you know, things to help me survive now that I am all physically disabled and mentally ill�I was finally approved.
For 18 dollars a month.
That's it.
That's all the assistance I will get.
(if only I had six illegitimate children that I could claim as dependents)
And since I haven't been able to pay my bills in months, it seems like I will soon have to give up my apartment and the city that I love.
I may soon have to move in with my parents.
And I'll tell you, there is nothing sexier than being a thirty-one year old who lives with his folks. Except for maybe a bald thirty-one year old that lives with his folks. Which, hey, that's some great news for me.
My parents and I disagree on politics and religion.
We disagree on lifestyle.
I know that I will be going to church three times a week. I'll probably never enjoy a beer or go out for drinks with friends. Bringing a girl home for the night won't even be a possibility.
Not only that, but there is the devastating blow to my ego. I already feel like a failure, I can't imagine how much more amplified that feeling will be if I have to move back home.
Plus, I don't know anyone in that town.
Plus, where would I go from there? I feel like I'd be re-starting my entire life. And I'm not exactly young, you know?
And it was these thoughts; these thoughts and so much physical pain; these thoughts and pain and complete and total loneliness that caused me to collapse.
And here I am collapsed.
If I had the energy, I'd go to the psych ward.
If I had a friend who would understand, I'd call them.
But instead I'll write to you, dear diary.
And then I'll go to sleep.
I no longer think it'll be better in the morning, now I just pray that things won't get worse.
7:58 p.m. - 2012-10-21
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
I remember me. - 2014-10-17
The Paper - 2014-10-13
A Post About Not Doing Anything - 2014-10-12
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