i used to love the blog https://fifty2letters.wordpress.com/. i miss it sometimes, like a weird form of internet kinship of people who have never spoken but are the only ones speaking. only ive stopped speaking, too. not for reasons like hers (she completed her project, for better or worse… maybe she has another blog somewhere now, who knows). ive stopped because im not suffering horribly and i dont know how to talk about things when they are only kind of miserable to sometimes ok. actually i sort of hate when people talk about being sort of miserable and talk about being ‘mildly depressed’. i dont know why, im kind of a shitty person i guess, but it just frustrates me. so i silence myself.
im sitting on a panel representing students at a mental health conference next week. i am dreading it, as per usual. im not sure why i always agree to do these things. i dont like doing them. and someone from the CFS will be there too, which is awkward since we seem to have this completely unneeded dislike of each other. lest the student movement work together. (oh left, always so divided…).
jon left and work feels like chaos though its really not much different i just hate the project im working on. and i shouldnt, its theoretically in my ballpark.
sam’s kidneys have failed and shes going into the hospital in a little over a week. she is probably the strongest person ive met, maybe too strong for her own good. she never complains. she never feasters in her own depression, somehow. i worry about her a lot.
Sometimes i think about writing letters on here, like Mara did, but I dont have anyone to write them to. no one has died. theres no one to fill in that i dont have the ability to fill in (though i tend not to bother). i think the construct might help me have things to say though. I dont know.
i feel like drinking.
im actually really unhappy they discontinued my favourite liquor. actually they didnt discontinue it, canada just decided to stop selling it. i have a giant bottle i bought in the states but its going to run out.
i feel like being drunk.
i feel like feeling nothing and loving everything and everyone and not caring about anything but everyone. i miss when that was a thing i didnt associate with being raped.
i feel like feeling safe.
i miss feeling safe. that doesnt come back.