strange…

I think it’s strange how I find it more difficult to write when I am happy than when I am depressed.

Perhaps it’s because when I am depressed, I want to get the feelings out.

But when I am happy, I want to hold on to them as tightly as possible.

dark signs.

tear my arms off…

defective

I feel as though God is systematically allowing all the things I love to do to become impossible.

I love to paint, to write (by hand), to type, to cook, to play video games, to fuck around on my phone.

And little by little, my hands can no longer sustain any of them for longer than a few minutes at a time. Shit, “few minutes” is being generous.

It takes about 30 seconds for the pain to start. Depending on what I’m doing, my hand will either fall asleep, which is painful in and of itself, or it will simply be a level of painful that can only be aptly characterized as excruciating.

Did I do this to myself? Partly. I never took great care of myself, particularly nutritionally. But I always thought that would only affect my ability to do things with my legs.

Maybe this isn’t my fault. Maybe it’s just my brain being an asshole. Either way, chronic pain really, really sucks.

I guess I’ll just have to get used to it.