Transcend:From The Memoirs Of A Half-Mad Woman

Twelve twenty-four...

I can't sleep. I've been lying here for over an hour. Neither body nor brain will shut down.

Neither has reason to.

I have no where to be. I have nothing to get up for. Well, nothing of any consequence at any rate. In about seven hours Debit will jump off her chair and wake me up for her morning walk. Right now I doubt she'll need to engage in her morning ritual of sticking her cold, wet nose in my ear. I'll be up.

Sleep is going to elude me tonight.

Tears are beginning to well up in my eyes as I write this. Not again. Not fucking again!!!!!!!!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME??????????

Once again I'm faced with the insurmountable obstacle of unemployment. And with absolutely no prospects about which to explore. It's very little comfort to me that this time is due to a scenario that began long before I had an active role. I simply have the fall-out from someone else's actions. Lucky me. Despite my best efforts, I can't cope. I am neither Spock nor V, I can't draw any inspiration from my heroes.

I am human. I am fallible. I am vulnerable.

Twelve thirty-seven...

Tonight my hand wields a pen of flame. I just wish this little vignette would reach an audience more consequential than a handful of online friends.

I mean no offense.

I'm just frustrated. I'm depressed. I'm scared. I don't know what to do. All the cards are stacked to the center of the cosmos against me. I have no where to go.

An admission is going to be made here that rarely escapes me. Part of my predicament is of my own doing. I'm trapped in this purgatory I've made for myself. The harder I claw at it's slick sides, the deeper the obsession grows, the stronger the black hole sucks me in.

I am my own creation. I am my own destruction.

I had it all once. In Euclid. I had everything I ever wanted. Autonomy. Respect. Gratitude. A voice. But I allowed all that to corrupt me, to allow my ego to swell beyond the limits of rational reason.

And now I've found myself stranded on a desolate island watching the last bridge home burn like the whole box of matchsticks set ablaze at once. I've never been a good swimmer. I don't know that I even have the drive to fight the currents anymore anyways. Even that realization looms forbodingly over my head. Me????? Not having the drive to fight anymore?????

I'm defeated. I'm broken. I'm resolute. I don't know what to do.

I do know what to do. However, I have no way of doing it.

I need to get my head under control.

Again, I know this will go largely unread. I don't blame anyone for staying away from the destructive force that has become me. But, if anyone does care...Five years ago I was diagnosed with severe ADHD. It all makes sense now, doesn't it????? How I was able to be as successful in school as I was is still a mystery. But then, I had skating to act as a surrogate treatment. When I could no longer skate, I no longer had an outlet for the symptoms.

One ten in the morning...

Debit just gave me a bleary-eyed query of "Mom, why are you still up?" Good question Doo. The answer is somewhere in the eddies and currents of my ever-racing mind.

FUCKING DISEASE!!!!!

I was doing just fine until I stopped taking the Strattera. That was the stupidest thing I have ever done. I convinced myself that I didn't need it. That I was weak for not being able to control my own mind. So I stopped taking it. Biggest mistake I ever made.

And believe me, I've made some doozies.

That self-righteous decision is the single-handed cause of my downfall over the past two years. And I've kicked myself every day since for doing it.

I know what every single one of you is going to say:go back on the medication. Easier said than done my bruthaz and sistahz. Remember, I don't have a job. It's questionable if I'm even going to have enough from this coming [last] paycheck to make rent. Let alone medication.

Damnit!!!!! Here come tears again. I hate this shit!!!!! Everyday I fail is a reminder. I don't want to remember. I want to forge ahead. I want to once again be that pillar around which everything draws strength and support.

I want to move forward. I want to grow. I want to transcend into something great.

Want, want, want.

"Having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but often true."

Thanks Spock. Words to live by.

It's better to dream. Is it better to dream?????

Not in this reality. Everyone is so me me me. Everything has a tangible price.

One thirty-two...

I've been at this for over an hour. My head is still racing.

I have no idea where this little tale is going. I don't care. I feel like such a loser, such a waste. Worthless. So utterly, pathetically worthless.

I'm desperately clinging to any edifice of greatness.

I can write. I know that I'm a damn good writer. It's a shame that I'm not passionate enough about it to make it a career.

Then again, if I could only get my writing read by someone other than the friend's who's "job" it is to tell me what a good writer I am. Okay, hello run-on sentence. If someone with a professional eye, an unbiased opinion gave my writing serious consideration, I might be more persuaded to get things published.

For now it's a pipe dream. My whole life is one big fucking pipe dream.

One forty-eight...

I'm going to be thirty in two weeks. My life is light years in the wrong direction from where I thought I'd be.

FUCK ME!!!!!

Most times I think of myself as THE poster-child for Murphy's Law. I've truly come to consider myself as modern-day incarnations of Atlas and Sisyphus. And I wonder who in the hell I've pissed off to be constantly dealt blow after blow after blow. I do take partial blame, I have done little to help my own cause. I don't believe in god, so the rest of my punishment isn't being rendered there.

Who cares really????? No one can help me. No one can find me a job. When I'm working, the darkest parts of my mind are tamed. When I'm alone, my mind is free to run rampant. To conjure up the deep-seeded disturbances.

I'm turning into the woe-is-me type that I despise. I'm too proud. I'm too stubborn. I will not ask for pity.

I still don't know what to do...