Cracking, crashing and chatter

The other day my cousin told me to just write the rest of the year off, like it was car I'd hit a roo with and ordering a new part for was no longer an option for me. And the part that pisses me off is that she only knows half the friggin' stuff that has gone on and couldn't even comprehend the emotional investment it would take to truly endure the sheer brutality of the crap I'm going through; which I wouldn't expect of her, because while I love her like the sister I never had (actually as the not-indifferent-to-me sibling I never had that has replaced my wanker brother) she is pretty insensitive. But I wouldn't want anyone, even someone as close to me as she is to know the full innards and details of what has been going on.

But it's now, as I've been shipped off to a shrink who tells me I have more psychological issues then Pammie Anderson has had tests for STI and I'm forced to dredge up all the childhood crap that I've long since buried that the emotional strain of this life has just about suffocated me.
SO added to the recent stuff that has occurred I've gotta slowly sift through a LIFETIME of shit, I blocked out all those fucking years ago for a god damn fucking reason! Some stuff is just meant to stay buried for a god damn reason. I don't want to have to question every fucking element of my life, every fucking relationship I have that I have ever had. I know that they are all fucked up, I know my life and I am permanently fucked as a result, but that is something I accepted a very long time ago. That is just the way things were, the way things are.

Throw a tantrum, break a hole in the wall with your foot then dust yourself off and get the fuck on with it. It has worked for me my whole life and I hate how someone with a diploma of some fucking description things they can plough through my acceptance and quiet resignation to the fucked up way things are and throw all the shit that are my perceptions of my world at the fan.

So write off the rest of the year, yeh? Right it off, because in the remainder few months I'll be miraculously cured thanks to this shrink who is Merlin reincarnated with tits and designer boots?

I live in a fantasy world majority of the time but that doesn't mean I'm fucking stupid, I can strangely fart out a half-baked realistic perception occasionally when it's needed.

But for now, i can't cope with this crap! I just can't cope. I've had insomnia for the past few months, but now the demons in my head have joined the party and you try getting fucking perspective when those fuckers wanna get you wwaahhhhsstteedd mannn..

This is my crash and burn year. I'm just not sure where the crashing part started and where the burning began. And whether I can rejuvenate from that burning..... I know my wuvly Grampians did those years ago...but last time i checked I wasn't a bush.....(even though the activity on my legs and ....ahem would beg to differ).

I told the shrink I was seeing her for a different perspective on life.....my foundations sucked, they were cracking quicker than the crack in my windscreen... but the real reason? I didn't want to wake up in the morning any more.

Every moment just seemed like more long hangdog tread towards...... the finish line? Towards another cracked inch in my windscreen till the eventual shatter? It no longer seemed like a matter of not what if, but when? And I was exhausted. completely done. 19 years old and ready to throw in the towel? That thought alone just gave me another reason to crack open another bottle of self hatred.

Now I'm on the painy-go-bye-bye-pills everything is just numb. I don;t feel that searing pain anymore, but nor do I feel that incredibly escalating passion and high that wouldn't last long, but long enough to tell a joke that would make my mates collectively piss their pants as all that pent up crap luckily exploded in a healthy way for a while- in the beginning of a Friday night on the rocket fuel in the pretty hair and make up looking like a different person from the ugly jillaroo called 'stupid cunt' and 'fucking bitch' by the misogynist stationhands those 2 and a half years ago. Well the high would fizzle out and flop me into a low that felt like a rock sinking to the bottom of a pond, every few sunken inches would mean another loathing thought.
You're fat. One inch.
You're ugly. Two inches.
Even you're own family hates you. They didn't even try and protect you that night. Three inches.
You are a waste of space. Four inches.
Even you're brother told you to kill yourself. Five inches.
They all hate you. Six inches.
Even your dog. Seven inches.
Just die already. Eight inches.
Etc.

And the longer that crack continued the shallower that pond seemed to get. Till eventually there was no high. There was no drop. There was just the bottom of that murky bond with my surroundings growing gradually darker and darker.

But now I feel suspended. Not high, not low. Just flat. Like the rock has been caught, and is poised mid-drop, held strongly, but if its reigns are given back that bitch of a rock is only going to go in one direction and that's down down down......
A state which is essentially leaving me empty and hollow, some days wishing the rock would just drop so I could feel something again.
And the demons' voices have reduced to this continuous, never ending stream of monkey chatter that goes on and on and on. I can't block it out! It's like having that stupid ginger chick with the brain-grating voice from the health insurance ads taking up permanent residence in my smouldering brain. But instead of bleating out idiotic word vomit, the voices are going through my biography, my life story as though relaying every crumby, sentimental detail to a room full of shrinks who listen, nod and write down words i can't see into exercise before occasionally interrupting me to ask how that makes me feel.
YOU TELL ME!!! CAUSE ALL I CAN HEAR IS FUCKING MONKEY CHATTER!!!