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Reflection from December 25th, 2007 @ Age 26


Ohh god I speak so often of fucking god in my prior AA days—it’s enough to make me keel over and puke bile.  It makes me sick reading this fucking bullshit.  I feel like I was brainwashed with all their fucking chemicals, mixing with my already fucked up chemicals, leaving an even bigger fucking mess than I started with!  I just can’t believe Dave is dead.  I just can’t motherfucking believe it. 

And on a similar note, I also find it hard to believe I have a star of David permanently tattooed on my foot!  It does put me back into balance though—what with having the script in the middle of my back and the flutterby dancing off to the right (the star is on my left foot).  Ohh I miss that fucking bastard.  With all my heart I miss him so.

Ahh yes, merry fucking Christmas.  I went to a meeting last night which is actually tonight in terms of my not having fallen to sleep and it here bein’ 2:36am.  I’m having lots of trouble sleeping lately if you haven’t noticed.  I like having the time to type up old journals though.  I am eagerly awaiting the completion of this project so I can give it a good, thorough read through in one continuous motion.

My knees hurt sitting Indian style and yet I don’t want to sit any other way.  My back hurts leaning over, and yet it takes effort to sit up straight.  I think I’m going to forgo the bar exam one more half year—putting the damn exam in February of 2009.  I’m not sure what I’m going to tell Paul yet; I’m really fucking hoping, banking on you might even say—that he doesn’t care.  I don’t really see why he would, but you never know.  It’s just the fact that I have to bring it up in the first place with him…I hate disappointing people.  Not that he will necessarily be disappointed.  It’s just hard being different.  It’s hard knowing that most law school students get out of law school, take the damn bar and then move on with their lives.  I took four years instead of three to finish law school, I’ll have taken over a year and a half then post-graduation until I get around to the bar exam.  I do suffer from mental illness though, which greatly contributes to my inability to be normal.  It’s just hard to be this fucking freak of nature—and you don’t see scholarships being handed out to people with mental illness.  You have to have physical manifestations to be considered scholarship material.  Motherfuckers.  The whole lot of ‘em! 

I hate David if he has or is visiting with Jeff Buckley since he’s died.  I hate him even more than I ever hated him on this good green earth if that’s so, and I tell you I hated that boy with a vengeance like you’ve never seen.  Funny thing, though, is that I loved him just as violently.

How can you tell me that I am different from the person that flies off the fucking handle in public—the person who has the urge and unlike me, cannot restrain it; and yet tell me that I am no different than a heroine addict shooting poison up his veins?  Life doesn’t make any goddamn sense.  I hate it.  Not more than I hated David though.  I don’t know if I’ll ever love more than I loved him.  I certainly hope to experience a bit more peaceful kind of love.  I don’t know if I’ll love ever again.  I really truly with all my heart do not know.  It makes me want to die not knowing.  It’s a cruel sentence this life is.  A cruel fucking world.

I loathe reading about how I wanted to fall in love.  Falling in love with my soulmate fucking best friend bullshit.  It makes me sick for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I still hope for it even though it makes me sick and it’s more of a dream than anything I think I’ve ever dreamt up before in my life.  Love is not real.  Love is not finding me.  I will not be saved.  I will not be saved in the end.


Well I tell you what…it’s the damnedest thing!  Christmas day has come and gone and I’m sitting here alone, at 11:23pm, enjoying the last moments of what’s been a truly delightful day.  It must have been a Christmas miracle because I’ve felt normal just about all day today.  Last night, technically this very morning, I was ready to die—and now I feel completely fucking normal.  It’s the damnedest thing I tell you!  I can’t figure it out, except to say that I’m pretty damn sure my brain chemicals are fuucckked up and all outa whack, because I’ve just been all over the damn place the last…who knows how long!  I guess my journals will tell…but I’m still back at the beginning of 2006 and have about as many journals to go in the past two years as in the six years prior.  Who knows where the fuck I’ve been.  It’s pretty damn interesting to read through it all though, and I do feel like many patterns are coming clear.  Jen told me tonight that she loves me because I get so passionate and excited about life.  She told me also that at times I have a tendency to speak like poetry.  It’s funny she would say that because sometimes I feel like I speak in poetry, think in poetry and write in poetry.  I suppose that too will be revealed.  Ohhh it’s just so exciting this whole journal project thing I’ve somehow gotten myself into!  And it’s great too because it takes up a lot of damn time, and without having to spend any money!  And writing usually makes me feel better when I feel out of control with whatever particular feeling of the moment. 

I’m having trouble sleeping once more though, that’s been happening for sometime now—prolly two to three weeks.  Also, about two days ago the back of my head, right above my neck, at the bottom left base of my head—I felt pressure and several bumps formed underneath the skin, and they were swollen and made me feel funny.  I don’t know what that was all about.  I do know I took one of my leftover medications, the really expensive one that knocks me out—I took one and went to bed at a reasonable hour, Friday it was I believe, and I didn’t wake up until 2 or 4pm the next day.  That was a Charity idea—to take a Seroquel if I needed to be sedated.  Although in all fairness, she said to take a fourth of the damn pill, and I took the whole goddamn thing.  Well, what’s done is done.

Tomorrow I’m going to book a psychiatrist appointment for ASAP, and the beauty of being suicidal is you’re pretty much able to get into any doctor’s office in a matter of one to two days.  At least there’s some beauty to it all; it would only be fair.  Anyways, I’m also going to ask my boss if he wouldn’t mind my taking the February 2009 bar exam rather than the July 2008 bar exam.  I’m not quite sure what I’m gonna say; I’m a bit nervous about the whole thing, but really I don’t think he’ll mind.  What to say, what to say.  I think I’ll say something like this:  hmmmm…I’ve just had a lot on my plate recently what with the move and adjusting to a new life here in Columbus and getting all the necessary…no no that’s stupid.  Let’s see…ohh I don’t know, I have to think about this more.  But the point I want to get across I guess, is that I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, I’ve had some personal issues to deal with which I am doing, but I just think that I will be able to fully prepare myself for the later bar exam…ohh I’m getting lost in words.  Sometimes I speak in poetry, it seems, and other times my tongue just gets tied.  I get lost in words, it seems.

Anyways, taking the February 2009 bar exam will give me enough time to finish taking care of immediate issues I have to address, like getting health insurance set up, finding doctors, getting my yearly checkups, adjusting to living in Columbus, etc., will allow me the extra time I need to finance the bar exam and BARBRI review course (I’m guessing the whole ordeal will cost approximately $2,500 — $3,000), and to mentally prepare for the exam so, ideally, I will feel prepared, take the damn thing once, pass it, and be done with it.  Something like that I shall say.  Until then…