So we messed around with my meds. I’m all kinds of fucked up. Half the time I can’t walk straight and wind up lying in bed crying. The other half I’m angry and can’t stand to be around anyone.. The smallest things set me off. The cats meowing can send me into a rage. The dogs, his dog, can set me off like you wouldn’t believe. This would be a bad time to introduce stressors.

So my brother is moving back home. No idea for how long. He has training out in Texas, working oil rigs again, but no one knows when. I think. I don’t know. No one tells me anything. Just one day things are moving along and then someone mentions that everything is changing. Like tomorrow. Like he’s starting to move his things back down this weekend. Like we need to clear out that room. Now.

I’m hiding in my room, crying, trying to pretend that I don’t hear my things being moved. I am so sick and fucking tired of people touching my things. Which reminds me. I have to go hide all of my toiletries, since he just uses them whenever he damn well pleases.

I want this day gone.. I want all the days to be gone. I need to get out of here and I can’t. And if one more self righteous fuckhole tells me I could just get up and do something and get out of here, I swear to god I’m going to hurt them.