Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Saturday, September 21st, 2013

I spent the night looking for a movie to watch because I have no one to talk to. I should really clarify that so nobody gets offended. I’m too depressed and shy to talk to strangers and I’m too much of a downer to talk to the people I know. I settled on Limitless and watched the first 30 minutes. I stopped the movie because it was playing on my dreams – everyone’s dreams, of reaching their “true” potential and breaking through all the fears and indecision that keep us bound in a life below our expectations. I already hate myself enough as it is and I really don’t need my media adding to that. I’ve been trying to teach myself Java programming through some online tutorials but mostly I just stare at the screen. I read the same sentences over and over because only the unconscious parts of my brain can understand them and move on. My conscious mind is playing back a highlight reel of all the horrible stories I’ve been reading in news, all the people I love that will never love me in return, and how little time I have left before I have to reveal how disabled I really am. I wish I still experienced those moments that get tucked away into the recesses of my mind as rainy day reinforcements. I need some basis in reality as a launching point for my fantasies when things get so difficult that I must drift out of myself. All my dreams are old and tired. Their edges are tattered from being played too much and their colors are dulled and distorted by a lens covered in a million tiny scratches. The only time I can see relatively clearly is when I’m off my medication and then everything just turns brilliant shades of black. I suppose this is what I deserve for missing my medication two days this week. How can I be so forgetful that I can’t even remember simple things like which days the medication clinic is open? Now you’ll have to excuse me while I wipe the withdrawal sweat off my brow and chest then try to ignore this headache long enough to sleep.

Stephen Pimley | Abstract,Illness,Thoughts,Writing | Monday, September 16th, 2013

I am trying to transform myself for a good cause, but I’ll never be perfect. I’ll never be what the world needs, but I’m changing nonetheless. You too, may never reach your lofty goals of perfection. Perfectly skinny, perfectly beautiful, perfectly successful, perfectly wise. At some point you have to accept yourself for what you are. Your goals matter more than your progress. Your intentions matter more than all the people ahead of you in life. You matter more than your doubts and fears. They’re just distractions and obstacles in the road. Tear your eyes away and look out the window at the landscape passing by. Sooner than you realize it, all of this will be gone and you’ll be left with nothing more than memories of the path you’ve taken. What do you want to remember?

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Drugs,Illness | Friday, September 13th, 2013

Why do the body aches from a cold or flu feel exactly like the body aches from opioid withdrawal? It is so triggering to feel like I did so many years ago. I just want to crawl under the warmest and softest blanket ever and then sleep for years. Or maybe inside of a cryogenic tube. In a thousand years they might be able to fix my brain. People of that day will at least know whether or not I’m hopeless and should be destroyed.

Medication Update

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Illness | Wednesday, September 11th, 2013

I saw my nurse practitioner on Tuesday and she wanted to prescribe me either of two new antipsychotics I haven’t tried yet. I forget the names but I definitely didn’t recognize them. Instead, I suggested I give another try with Neurontin (gabapentin). I had taken it briefly, perhaps for three months or so in 1998 when a psychiatrist suspected it would help with my sleep. If I am still getting some seizure activity it will help with that too. The nurse said it also works on anxiety. I don’t recall that being an off-label use in the 1990’s but I’m willing to give it a shot. I’m starting out at 100mg once or twice a night. The nurse left it up to me whether to take one or two. On the upside I don’t recall the drowsiness from Neurontin lasting for days like it does for me with antipsychotics.

Stephen Pimley | Friends,Illness | Wednesday, September 11th, 2013

My ex started self-harming at some point in college. I don’t know if it was because she had become used to me doing it or if she would have done it on her own anyway. This was after we had broken up, but we were still hanging out whenever she was in town. One time we were sitting on her bed getting stoned and I found a large burn scar on the back of her calf. I asked her what it was from and she looked away sadly and didn’t speak for a while. She turned back to me and said, “You don’t know how hard it is”, and then she wept in my arms.

Years later when we were no longer meeting and barely talking she made fun of me for cutting. I wanted to call her a hypocrite but I was too busy being hurt to respond. Besides, I know she just said it to hurt me and unleash some of the endless hatred she had towards me for abandoning her.

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Family,Illness | Saturday, September 7th, 2013

I yelled at my mother and now she feels bad because she started steaming green beans and had a plastic Ziploc bag an inch from the burner. It was already melting and could have started on fire if I hadn’t caught it in time. Almost every time she cooks something on the stove I am pushing plastic Tupperware or something else away from the burner so I don’t have to worry about her burning the house down while I’m asleep or in the other room with my headphones on. I wish they could hurry up and figure out how to give her some sight back so she could at least do little every day things like this without being a danger to herself and people around her. Of course, as soon as they can do nerve transplants for eyes I could get my hearing back as well. Hop to it scientists!

After that incident I was rubbing her shoulders to make her feel better and my mother said that she needs to remind my sister more often that she has to let me live with her when our parents die. Because I’m totally incapable of taking care of myself, that is. Well I would rather wander the country homeless and die of starvation or disease in some cold alley or just straight up kill myself than be a burden on my sister too.

Stephen Pimley | Daily Life,Family,Illness | Thursday, September 5th, 2013

My mother is going to drive me to suicide someday. I can’t even begin to describe how aggravating our conversations are. On a positive note, at least I haven’t put my fist or foot through the doors since I stopped drinking. I just don’t think I can take this forever. My blood boils so much and I don’t know how to bring myself back down. She never learns from anything I say. She hears but she never listens. Every time she tries to repeat something I’ve said she has changed the entire meaning of it. It’s like the doorway of perception in her brain is a garbage disposal and I feed it well formed pears and she spits back some mashed pears with bits of carrot and lettuce from yesterday’s salad. I honestly don’t understand how a brain can function like hers does, but I know it isn’t her fault. She can’t even recognize or comprehend that she is misinterpreting everything my father and I say to her. She doesn’t have the self-awareness to realize she needed therapy almost as much as I do.

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