Oct 12, 2016

FROM THE BLOG DIARY OF EMILY HUNTER

Entry #11: August 27, 2013

 I didn’t write that.  I didn’t go off my meds and black out again.  I seriously didn’t write that.  Someone is messing with me.  Someone has my password or something.  I changed it, so you can’t do it again asshole.  Seriously, who does that?  Who gets on a persons blog who obviousy has issues enough and is it and writes shit>;;;;;? I bet it"s those Sandy SHores assholes.  They laughed atr us all the time.  THey’d make videos of peple to show their friens. They thogt it was funny to watch Jack hit his head Sick fucks.  I can’t get away from you.  You have nothing beter to do that to fuck with me?  Of cousre not, youre loser who get a life you son of a bitch all you ever do is fuck with people whell i hope it comes back on thoye ten fold assholes donet ever come near me or my family or i swear il;l kill anotherone of you wyou assholes everythine i try to get my life in order theyre is someone therye woto take it all away again everytime and they keep beating over and over theis noise why wone she open her eyes she always closes them and te she can setill see me everywhere she goes and i go and shes there allways to follow me she can’t help it they need me if i cant ehlp them they all are in nowhere its not my fault i didnt hurt anyone i never want anyone to hurt i cant help it save us save us save us

Oh my god.  I just threw up.  I’m not deleting anything.  I remember starting this entry.  My head is killing me.  I don’t know what any of that means.  I’m calling Dr. Harper now.

I left a message.  What the hell?!  I haven’t missed my meds.  I don’t know what just happened.  I haven’t slept very well lately.  Lots of bad dreams.  I don’t know what

Dr. Harper is calling back.  Gotta go.  

Entry #12: September 6, 2013

 I got my dosage upped.  The truth is, the medication isn’t always 100% effective.  Like anything there are good days and bad days.  Sometimes there are flare ups, so to speak.  So to anyone reading, I’m okay.  Thank you for any concern you may have had if any.

It’s been a rough few weeks.  I’m sleeping less, although it’s a little better now.  The meds make me feel like shit, and now they’re heavier.  I have a hard time falling asleep, but once I do, I have a hard time waking up. And to be honest, I still feel a little keyed up and shaky.  It’s like being drowsy from no sleep but wired on caffeine at the same time. 

This is why I don’t have a boyfriend, or really many friends in general.  This shit is embarrassing enough to write out sometimes.  And while I accept who I am and the struggles I live with, asking someone else to do the same is a little much.  It sucks, to feel like you’ll always be alone.  Stuck in this little one bedroom one bathroom apartment.  No one to love you but yourself.  No boyfriend, no husband, no kids.  I love kids, but I couldn’t dream of passing this on to them.  Studies show schizophrenia to be prevalent in families, that it is passed on from parents much more frequently than can be explained by coincidence. Besides, no child deserves me as a mother.

Poor me, right?

Thing is, I’m not wrong.  I’ve accepted it.  I’ve moved past it.

It’s not easy though.  It feels like other people have this thing, and I have to watch.  I’ve never really had many friends.  I got pulled out of school after third grade.  That’s a fun story.  When I was in second grade, the week before summer vacation, I had a seizure in the middle of an oral report about my favorite book ("Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Mysterious Handprints." Seriously, I remember that.)  In front of the whole class, I fell over, breaking Julie Dent’s diorama of some book about a vampire rabbit, and hit the ground shaking.  According to the teacher I was babbling some shit about god knows what, and when I woke up, I had wet my pants. 

They took me to the hospital, checked me out, and said I was fine.  They couldn’t explain it.  And when I got back to school, my name had been changed to Emily Pisser. 

So, summer vacation started right after that, and then it was over in what seemed like a blink of an eye.  I told my mom I didn’t want to go back to school, because the kids would make fun of me.  She said they’d all have forgotten it by this point.

Kids have long memories.

Day one it was "Hello Pisser!"  Someone would spill something on themselves and say "Hey look, I’m Emily!"  Kids would fall down and shake around by me, and then laugh.  I went through it for all of third grade before my mom let me be home schooled.

She wasn’t happy.  She raised hell with the principal, the school board, the PTA, everyone.  Mom had my back. 

So really, I haven’t had a lot of friends.  I’ve been alone most of my life.  I’m mostly okay with it. 

Sometimes though... It would be nice to hug someone, ya know?

-Em

Entry #13: September 9, 2013

 This isn’t working.  This is a waste of time.  All of it.  This blog, the meds, therapy all of it.  I feel like I’m just postponing the inevitable.  This is going to kill me.