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2006 July:

Fuckin' IBS has fucked me up so much more than I thought possible. I've had to completely change myself around. Against my will, I've been turned into a straight-edge vegetarian, and I fucking hate it.

No alcohol, no smoking of any kind, no caffeine, no carbonated beverages, no chocolate, nothing that's a stimulant, no dairy, no coffee, and NO MEAT! It's like I had to make a list of all my favorite things, for the specific purpose of being told that I wasn't alowed to partake in them anymore.

Fun side effects include: constipation, diarhea, stabbing pain, gas, and bloating. The gas being the really fun one. IBS sufferers call it leaky gas, because you're just so full and bloated with gas all the time that you're constantly leaking and farting without realising it. I fucking hate this shit.

The advantage, I guess, is that from eating healthier, I actually feel kinda healthy, which is something that I don't think I've really known for quite a while. Now if I could get some happieness in there, that would be great, but I'm not gonna hold my breath.

Finally got out of verdump, now livin' with Louis, 2 blocks away from the big O! We've got a cat, Bucky, and he is fat and fuzzy and cute as hell. So at least I've got most of the stress out of my life for now and can start trying to piece myself together again.

The fuckin' food crap is driving me insane though. I've got my birthday and christmas coming up, and now I can't eat any of the food that I've been looking forward to. No steak or anything like that for my birthday, no getting drunk, hell not even a glass of wine. Can't have a cake, either, unless it's not made with any dairy or too much sugar, and at that I can't have anything with chocolate, either, so really what's the point of getting any?

What kind of belgian can't eat chocolate, fries with mayo, or drink beer?

And to just go and add to my list of things that are depressing the fuck out of me, it's now 5 years straight that I've been single and not had anyone around for the holidays and my birthday. The holidays are the time your suposed to be with loved ones, and watching all the happy people does nothing but remind me of how lonely I am.

Every once in a while, I can't help but think that maybe I died in that hospital bed when I was 13, and that my beliefs really are wrong, and the all my life since then has just been me in my own custom-tailored hell, designed to torment me and make me hurt, physicaly and emotionaly, for the rest of the time that I will percieve.