Now it's October.

I don't know where the month of September went, but it went fast. It was August until my Grandmother died. September began and Jason's Grandmother died on the first day of it. Since then, everything has been a blur of somehow driving to and from Kentucky, packing, preparing, unpacking, cleaning, physical pain and of course the depression. My BPD (Borderline) has definitely clenched me in it's fists a lot lately as well. So much so and so hard that it's pouring out of the almost completely closed spaces between it's fingers like meat being pressed into a meat grinder and squeezing through holes.

I was going to say more but I am leaving work early.

Okay.

So lately every little thing has been getting to me. All of the drama that ensued during the last moments of my transition from my last place of residence to the new one due to my filthy ex-roommate, the normal severe depression that kicks on sporadically and is ruthless, the general stress of unpacking, setting things up, lack of money and also figuring out what to go back to college for. I feel so much yet I feel simultaneously detached. It's taking a toll on my relationship and this is not okay. Especially so because we just made this big step together. However, after realizing that he has been feeling this way too, then texting me with something that made me feel again an hour or so later and talking to Jill, I think things may be okay in the long run. Simply put, I need therapy. Badly. J needs to come with. He has agreed in the past but I've never made the steps to get us there and really, it is up to me because honestly, my problems are worse and I'm the source of things fucking up at least 70% of the time. I hate percentages. Hah.

I just want to be "normal". Not happy per se. Just normal. Feeling sad would be blissful because sadness is so many levels higher than what I feel most of the time.

Blah blah blah.

I am thankful...

for my best friends. They know who they are. My longest one in particular, Kristen, just helped me move a bunch of shit into my new place.

My friends (including my future husband who is one of my best friends and has known me for 14 years now, Jason) keep me going. Usually. I only say 'usually' because there are the moments when I want to rip my face off, bleed all over strangers and scream at them in tongues. I'd like to believe most wouldn't deserve such a spectacle, however I'm pretty much a misanthropist. And if some weren't worthy of such a gross display of insanity, at least they could walk away from it with a great story to tell. As well as some bloody garments. They make all kinds of things that take blood out of fabrics now, no?

Hey - you live, you learn. So I'm lucky to have those that understand me.