Doing Crystal Meth Will Lift You Up Until You Break

I feel like a drug addict. I know I have a problem. I know it hurts me, and probably others. I want to stop. But I don't know how.

We are taught all our lives in church and school, and any decent places that feel obligated to teach you how to act properly, that we should care for others. They never ever said that could go wrong. Maybe there is no way for them to know it can. J.O.Y. is how we should live. Jesus first. Others second. Yourself third.

This is horribly flawed. At least for me. I will be my Christ first in my life because I believe He will help me. If I continue to put others before myself I will never get better.

Thank you to my dearest friends who have promised (oathed if we had had ketchup or were willing to spit our hands and shake) to tell me when I'm doing it. And to Cami who will take me to on a drive just so I can relax (plus chocolate turn overs). I am lost without these people in my life, but you can see my other page to know about that.

I know it will help to notice when I do it,

but I am not sure what to do with that. I would probably be better if I talked to Doug, had his input, but I don't think we can't afford it anymore. Lets pray I can fix this. I need to be better. . . I'm just not sure how. Who knows? Please tell me I'd like to know.

Does anyone else have this problem? Somewhere out there, there has to be another over-sympathizer (this is my self diagnosis). We should start a support group. The part that really sucks is, I should be the one who can control this, but I can't, not really.

I'm an addict. I have abused something good to the point where it is dangerous with the illusion that I could control it. Now that I've lost control I can't find a way back to sobriety.

Well now that I have vented my more depressing thoughts and feelings I will tell you something great, because I've decided I'm not a happy enough person in blogs and journals so...

The Zombie Apocalypse? Yeah. It's already happened. about 200,000 years ago. there were multiple human like species on the earth at the same time and then .2 million years ago, for no reason geologists can explain with an earth quake or volcano eruption, or something like that, they all died. All except for a small group of Homo-Sapiens. (and a few Hom

o-neadrathals but they died out shortly after.) These few homo-Sapiens have now 7 billion ancestors that rule this earth.

The explanation? Disease. But what kind of disease? OBVIOUSLY Zombie-ism.

Thank you Joseph Buck Atwood. (Also according to Brother Sunshine, more people are abducted by aliens on fridays.)

I will leave my druggie life behind to become a conspiracy theorist. just call me Hodgins.

This is what I imagine it looked like. or at least something of the sort. ---->

BBC ruined my life.

it seems when ever I write on this blog I'm horribly upset about something. Don't feel bad, it's the same way with my journals. which is why I rarely keep them. The less I write the happier I am. Someday future generations will read my blog/journal and think "Damn, she was a pitiful person. never had a positive thing to say on life.". this is untrue, but they'll have no proof of the contrary. I'll go down in history as a total pessimist. that is not entirely untrue. I like pessimism, either I'm right or I'm pleasantly surprised.

So I'll start today's blog with a more positive thought before I begin to rant. Group therapy is the best thing in the world. I would marry every single one of the boys in there if I were allowed to. (Since I can't, and respect them all too much to break that rule, I'll just love them like family.) And each girl in there is an idol of mine, and I want to be more like them. also loved like family. So thank you Chandler and Taylor, and Krissy and Harrison, for going before me, and making me go, no matter how scared I was. You're the reason I am as sane as I am.

Speaking of my sanity! Time to rant about why this post is titled BBC ruined my life.

A note to women everywhere. When you're PMSing horribly, and are too cramped up and gross feeling to get off the couch for more than ten minutes, do not, under any circumstances, watch eight episodes of BBC's Robin Hood. especially not the last eight episodes. You will cry, and then you'll want to die.

As you can guess, this is what I did today. My uterus is causing me horrible pain for the sake of future children (who as I told my mother, better be freaking awesome for me to go through this much pain every month!!) so I decided to watch a little Robin Hood, with no intent to finish the series.... but I did. I knew full well Guy of Gisbourne would fall in love with a girl in prison who would die in his arms, still I wanted to cry. I could pin point the very scene where Allan of Dale would be shot by the sherrif's men and his body brought to his friends, still I screamed a little. Gisbourne was going to be stabbed, yet I gasped, and almost died a little just then, because as always I fell in love with the misguided bad guy. And when he gave poison to his sister, I knew it would be the death of Robin Hood. But I cried anyways. the only thing that got me through this traumatic foresight was the fact that Maid Marian, who died a season before, would come for Robin's soul. instead of Kate, who, despite her awesome name, I dislike. mostly because she falls for Robin, like every girl, and not for Much. (its ok though, they secretly fall in love afterwards.)

It seems like a problem that I get so attached to fictional characters, but despite the fact that Meghan Lanae Carpenter thinks I need proffesional help, I don't care. I have great reasons for wanting to die in a hole now that Robin is dead. and for being terribly distraught every time a character I love in a TV series, movie, or book dies.

The First: As everyone woman in my house, and probably everywhere, will understand. I'm PMSing. Thus all hormones are raging wildly. So today, I'm allowed to yell at Sarah for laughing at Robin Hood.

The second: I do not have a boyfriend or love life of my own (or really a life at all for that matter), and so I live vicariously through books/movies/tv shows etc. So I become extremely emotionally attached to said characters. This makes their deaths a lot more traumatic for me, its like losing a friend.

The last: As a writer, I create characters that I grow attached to (and then kill off...) with said types of media, I relate to the writers or creators, and understand they must feel the same for their characters as well. I sympathize with them, which doesn't help.

So, now that I've had time to grieve over the loss of Robin Hood, I would like to say something to Robert Jordan/Brandon Sanderson. If any of the characters die in the end of Wheel of Time, I will hunt you down (in this life and the next so don't think your off the hook just cause your dead Jordan!) and cause you pain. lots of pain. I will then proceed to have a memorial service for the lost character, and probably die a slow death from grief. that is all... good day.