christ666's Diaryland Diary

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I love Puma Suede. The shoes, not the porn star.

Drinking coffee makes me feel like an adult, however this is maturity is often forgotten when I have my cravings for Squeez-Itz. Those things put Koolaid to shame. I also miss pogs. I never had the greatest collection, but shit, it was just cool to collect. Sure, I collect comic books now, but I never really caught on to other legitimate collecting like trading cards, or model cars. Although, I do partake on some righteous DVD collecting.

Had the debate last night. I enjoyed the open spaced stage and the platform, and thought it gave the politicians to speak on a personal level. I think Obama was well expressed and eloquent, and my father is out of his goddamned mind. He "really likes" Sarah Palin, showing that the man will always rely on his political party to base his decisions. I've expressed before of my uncertainty of Biden when he was announced, however when I caught word of Palin and descovered her fucking wackjob identity, I put the matter to rest and realized Biden is a fucking messiah compared to the governer of Alaska, Pazuzu... I mean Palin.

I don't have a problem with my father voting republican because he is in fact one. I have a problem that he cannot acknowledge severe character flaws and shortcomings of a future VP and possible president because he is filled with too much pride to admit this chick is out of her fucking mind. As it stands, I believe Obama and Biden will bring an optmistic and much needed change to this country. I never muched paid attention to politics, even in 2004 when it was a serious election. I simply got the basic idea of each candidate, know that I didn't at all approve of Bush and voted Kerry from there. But this time around, it's different.

Maybe it's because I'm trying to become a more responsible person, and I've involved myself in an already established family, but I honestly feel like I need to play more of an involved role in the future. Voting may be simple, but I do believe it's important. So lately, I've been paying as much attention to domestic issues, foreign affairs, and the political campaign to make up for my lack of involvement over the years. I hope all of you decide to vote in November.

This weekend was an interesting one, filled with highs and lows and one really fucked up Saturday night. On Friday, I picked up Katie from daycare and took her back home. Star arrived just before I had to crash in bed from a bad hydroxyzine trip. I met up with Star and Katie at my parents place where we enjoyed Taco Bell and my father's awkward annoyed behavior. The next night I spent with Steve and Mike enjoying some cigarettes and beers around a fire chatting. Until being called by Mike's drunk friend who could not find her car and sounded like she was being tortured in some gorrific scene from Saw.

My intrusive thoughts have become more violent with explicit images of me doing harm to myself. They aren't so much acts of suicidal ideation, but rather attempts in desperation to feel something other than apathy. I can't begin to express the uncomfort and anxiety this "whatever" is giving me, but the stress has been heavy on Star who has been supporting me through everything. There has been much more guilt following my episodes of grief and fear, and I can only hope that resolve is coming soon. I'm running out of options.

Starla suggested I see a psychiatrist, an option that frightens me on so many levels. On the one hand, I'd be exposing myself completely to a complete stranger who only knows a previous psych history of me trying to kill myself at age thirteen and it's subsequent psychiatric hospital stay. On the other, you have the fiscal quicksand that can eat you up afterwards. I'm not all too positive that my insurance will pay for such visits and I have enough hospital bills as it is. On the imaginary and invisible third hand, I have the risk of having people that I know finding out. Granted, I'm sharing confidential thoughts on an online diary, but the few people who read this I would have no problem sharing my problems.

I just don't want to have to deal with hearing shit from my co-workers, or my family members who have though of my diagnosis as a joke.

But, somthing has to be done. A special thanks to my brother who has been supportive and helpful. And of course, thanks to McCartney for being my rock.

3:22 a.m. - 2008-10-08

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