I am undergoing another period of irritability at the moment. It is hellish. 

I despise everyone. I am jealous of anything. Even the slightest annoyance can trigger me.

And I yell at whoever crosses my path…..or is unfortunate enough to be around me.

I criticize. I complain. And I wish to sob as I do both.

I’ve been like this for a little more than a month, now that I remember. I don’t know why. It started even a week before I quit that Zoloft.

I imagine arguments…..heated ones. I always must sound confident and headstrong….but I will always break.

I’ve been like this since I was a child, according to my sister. I’ve never really been stable then.

I almost screamed at the cashier lady who was to sell me food in the movie theater when she wouldn’t accept credit.

I have wanted to throw my phone against the wall because it is slow.
And I pity myself for sounding so dramatic. We all know I am begging to be sweetly understood.

Truth is I am just irritable.

And I dread seeing humans, for I will be horrified at the sight of them…..and jealousy will be at an all time high. And that voice will come….

Okay, let’s call it Eros. Well, Eros always says I should go take my own life already because other people (comparison, you see?) are already doing what I most aspire to do and are probably much better at it.

Eros makes me look around my bedroom to see where it would be appropriate to hang myself.

I cannot bear feeling this much rancor for nothing!

I see fans of, say, even Type O Negative and I feel bitter jealousy and have to immediately find a reason as to why I am better than them. That’s horrible.

I’ll never be better. I can’t be better. I am just different.

The martyrdom of my posts makes that clear.

It’s not a nice feeling. I don’t feel like a nice person. Hell, I have a yucky personality.

And I take a look at that dreadful mirror and I see a worthless, ugly
spectacle. Sweet lord, how could YOU actually attempt to think you could amount to something? Oh, sweet Eros. You are guiding me to my grave.

So, so young, and already sure my efforts are in vain.

What have I left to do now? Gradually decaying in my bed sounds reasonable.

Darlings, it’s much better to like something without investing so much emotion on it. It’s healthier. I found what I love and it is now killing me.

And I pout. And frown. And sulk.

Life is killing me.