• Tell supervisor about losing my voice and promise to do your best.
• Set reminder for upcoming therapy appointment.
• Take 30 minute lunch break.
• Calculate 8 hours mandatory overtime.
• Write down money spent this weekend.
• Leave work at 6:30PM sharp.
• Cash check.
• Go to dad’s to pay rent and get food for tomorrow.
• Tell Whisper friend to reschedule workout for tomorrow night.
• Pack lunch for tomorrow.
• Try to be in bed by 8PM.

I am so incredibly, mind-numbingly bored. I’ve gotten dressed, picked up the house, did laundry, did dishes, pickled some veggies, cooked some eggs, watched my roommate fix his truck, and I feel like I have done nothing. I also drank Kombucha today. It made me feel really good inside. I’ve been taking Prozac (leftovers from my psychiatrist) and that’s helped a lot. But I am very, very bored. Things are good, I just always want more. I think today I’ll just try to relax and be happy with that I have.

Leave it to my life to throw curveballs right when things were starting to look up.

Yesterday evening I found out the local hospital in my town is going out of business.

This may not seem like a big deal, but this sets off a chain of events that will affect the most crucial resources I have.

For one, my dad works there. He has for a long time. Him losing his job means he loses his health insurance, which means I will too.

He is looking for other jobs of course but the situation looks grim. He has an extensive criminal history from his younger, more alcoholic days. Most hospitals require background checks and throw troubled applicants into the trash.

The hospital in my town was understanding of his situation and allowed him to work his way up the ladder from materials management to nurse anesthetist and house supervisor.

But that was rare.

And now it’s gone. But not only that. My therapy appointments are gone too and any hope of me getting back on medicine. My mental health will suffer because I simply can’t afford copays and all the therapy I need in order to stay sane.

My new job provides insurance but it’s so expensive and completely shitty.

And since my dad owns my house and pays the mortgage with my rent money, the pressure to make payments on time is definitely increased with the threat of him losing his job.

All hopes of me attending college this year are essentially down the drain. I simply cannot afford to work part time and can barely afford to work regular full time hours.

With all this happening right before my eyes, and all the other bullshit stacked on top of that, everything seems futile and impossible.

I’m also sick. I over exerted myself at the gym doing bicep curls and damaged my right bicep muscle. I can’t fully extend my arm without crying and have to keep it curled up against my chest.

The condition is called rhabdomyolysis and if the muscle breaks down too much, it puts some bad shit in your blood and your kidneys start to fail. Your urine gets darker and I’m already seeing signs of that.

I was told to drink a ton of pedialyte and sports drinks (per my roommate who had gotten the same condition months earlier) but instead I drank my sorrows away with giant margaritas.

Today I’m hungover and dirty and sad. My arm feels worse and my head is pounding. I’m dehydrated and terrified.

I know what you’re thinking. Why would she drink when she’s clearly needing to heal and recover?

Good question. I’m not entirely sure either. For one, I like making jokes about my kidneys failing. And maybe my desire for death is fueling my neglect. I’ll get some goddamn Gatorade today, angrily and defeated.

In a sense, I am grateful for the change simply because it is change. The monotony is worse but financial insecurity is almost just as bad.

Let’s see how this pans out I guess. Let’s see if I can survive this bullshit.

Today was… a day.

I woke up tired as all hell, mentally exhausted and sore as shit. Yesterday was arm day so my entire upper body hurt. I got to talking to some strangers on the internet about how I felt and I ended up sitting on the couch crying whenever I was supposed to be leaving for work.

I spent the morning smoking weed and decided to call the attendance line and tell them I woke up to a flat tire to buy me some time. It was a dirty lie, I know, but in my defense I was so anxious and depressed that there was no way I was moving.

When I finally managed to gather my shit, I showed up to work and the entire class (I’m still in training) said they were worrying about me. The trainer said to me, “I saw you weren’t here and said to myself ‘Where’s Jack? She’s never late!'”

I felt so bad for lying. Even some of my classmates exclaimed, “There you are!” It was strange. They said they were glad I made it here safely and that they knew I was probably having car troubles. My heart broke. I wish I could have just told them the truth but that would have gotten me in trouble for sure.

I didn’t know they even liked me. I thought everyone looked at me like some fat quiet weirdo. But apparently they like me, which was a good enough pick-me-up to get me through the rest of the day.

Either way, as much as I enjoy the people so far, I know this job is production based (it’s a call center) which is what I was trying to get away from. I worked at a meat factory prior to this job and it was awful. The quota means more than the people who work there.

I just want to be able to go to college and actually make something out of my life before I get too old, and I don’t think I’ll have the time if I’m working there. The whole situation sucks.

To make matters worse, I ended up eating five slices of pizza, cheesecake, and chocolate at my dad’s house. I also ate a cookie for breakfast. Which is awful because I broke my diet just because of how emotional I was today.

And it’s so hard to process and vent all my emotions to my handful of internet friends. I can’t be vulnerable around anyone. Not anyone in real life, anyways. I get so anxious to the point of panic attacks whenever I try to be vulnerable. But I’m trying my best.

I want to be at 200 pounds by March. Right now I’m 204. I was 203 but my compulsive eating pushed me back up a pound and now with today’s ordeal it might be back to 205. If it is, I’ll be devastated. I long for someone to help me through this whole process. Someone who can consistently be there for me. But I just have to accept that I can’t have that right now.

Life is a trip. I’m not sure how I’m going to maintain all this shit but the only thing I can do is keep trying. Consistency is my biggest struggle with the whole process. Hopefully things are better tomorrow.

I’m what they call “a quiet type.”

When you meet a borderline girl, she will be one of two things. A quiet type like myself; someone who internalizes her rage, or the loud types; someone who takes their rage and hurt out on others.

We are different, but also the same. Our thought patterns are fucked either way. We both get angry for no reason. We both are pathetic underneath our mask of anti-vulnerability. But our behavior differs drastically. It all depends on how the disorder presents herself.

Either way, medical professionals will never believe you. Especially when your hypochondriac anxiety kicks in and you become convinced that you have PTSD or Asperger’s or Cancer. Because in your mind, SOMETHING IS WRONG. And if you can’t fix it, you’re surely going to die.

Everyone brushes you off, scoffing and chalking it up to the age-old excuse of, “She just wants attention.”

As if I don’t lose sleep every night.

As if I don’t weep every day, mourning the premature loss of my life.

As if my conviction of having contracted syphilis from a public toilet doesn’t render my vagina OUT OF ORDER.

As if I don’t feel itching and bugs crawling and feasting within my pubic hairs, my labia red hot and disintegrating, my clitoris thumping with agony instead of ecstasy.

The disorders I convince myself of having are real; just not real in the realest of senses. They exist solely in my amygdala but exist nonetheless.

Deafness, blindness, lung cancer, throat cancer, rotting gums, PTSD, autism, psychosis, syphilis, chlamydia, yeast infection from hell.

My body only has BPD. But my mind is sick and dying. Decomposing within my skull with every second you try to ignore me.

But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part comes when virtually all your symptoms manifest in a single second. The worst part is when the monster that resides within you decides you haven’t been tortured enough.

Self harm seeps in like an unbreathing fog.

Muffled sobs and pounding fists on hardwood floors.

All the sudden, you look up and all you see is your blood pouring from the gashes you cut into your thighs.

“I am only interested in the ideas that become obsessive and make me feel uneasy. The ideas that I’m afraid of.”

Marina Abramović