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This all seems like a nightmare. I keep getting flashbacks to our old apartment, to Micawber, to the quality of light at certain times of the day -- part of it must be the illness, but I feel like I'm spinning out of control and nothing will ever be good or happy again.

I crawled into bed yesterday mid-afternoon and didn't get up until I was dragged out of it at noon today. Fits of shaking, crying, and paralyzing jolts of fear keep hitting me. I just want to lie down and cover my head with something and never, ever come out. I want to die.

Northlight is coming over in about half an hour to borrow our air purifier. Of course, I'll have a high level of external functioning even though I'm coming apart inside (a trait of BPD that makes it much harder to spot and treat, but do I really care about that right now?).

Got an email from a friend earlier today that contained what might be a slap against me, a rebuke about spreading the word to people when I'm going to be interviewed on TV or radio. Saying I'm too loud and arrogant. That's probably true.

Off to give my existence some meaning, and paint, to make money.
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crowdog66

October 2016

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