Keeping with the recent theme of anxiety attacks, horrible news, and all-around horribleness that happens to be called my life there are a few exciting things that happend. I watched Melofiestivalen from a few nights ago, and that lifted my spirits. And then throughout the night, something actually happend in Calvados. I shit you not. Something happend, and it doesn’t have to do with cheese or cows. I still am an awe. We have weather! And when I say that I mean something that isn’t the same thing that we have every damn day. The wind picked up to about 110km/h here in Caen, which makes me happy, because firstly like wind, and secondly something actually happened here. How exciting.
Anyways, Mello review to follow later in the day with screencaps as per the annual routine.
Back to the “news” of greatness. I’ve come to the surpressed realisation that I seriously need to see a psychiatrist. It has been festering in my brain since about the age of thirteen, and every time that it comes to mind I keep reminding myself that I firstly can’t afford it, and secondly will do it when I’m financially secure enough to. What does this mean for me? That its probably never going to happen, as I will never be in a financially sound situation. So is the story of my tragic life. I really need something like that. I have a lot of unresolved “issues” which I can’t get over and I can’t move on from.
It either comes down to me getting serious help, and fast (which Mt. Allison couldn’t do at all…), or I’ll just keep sinking into a hole and the final 18 years of my life will just be the culmination of my patheticness (if it even lasts that long). I did talk to the people at Mt.A when I was there, but the best they could do was give me a little pamphlet on how to deal with anxiety, and that I could see someone once every two months. Considering that the school year is only 5-6 months of the year that is not nearly sufficient. Bitterness alert. It’s okay for the rape “victims” to get the help they need, despite them going out every weekend and being whores themselves, but when it comes to someone that actually needs some help the best they can do is a little carrot.
Death be to me. Death be to happiness. Death be to people moving in together. Death be to my past and history. Death be to my experiences. Death be to everything, seriously.
I would say it’s not fair, but who the hell gives a flying fuck?