Amazing!

Today, I unexpectedly stumbled upon a diary entry from almost three years ago - written as part of a failed plan to write daily and promote inner peace. It is, in my humble and self-deprecating opinion, the Best Thing Ever. Seriously. It oozes with angst, and then languishes in a cesspool of its own spittley rage. It is amazing...I present it here in its unedited, unabridged glory. You may disagree, invisible audience, and that is your right...however, doing so would make you a big Stupidhead. (Those pressed for time may skip to the last paragraph, which is especially awesome: "I remember living in a time when sexual favours were good for three, maybe four days of polite small talk...because God forbid I get something out of my sexual encounters besides urinary tract infections and pregnancy scares.") I rest my case.

***
I have come to a conclusion today which really, I’m surprised I didn’t reach a very long time ago. And that is this: I am crazy. Totally bat-shit. Breadbasket, if you will. Losing touch with reality. Suffering from a nervous collapse. Experiencing a culmination of mental illness. Crazy. I’ve discussed suicide at least once, burst in to tears about five times, and now I think I’ve reached a point where I’m okay with my self diagnosis. Well, not ‘okay,’ as that implies a degree of health or wellbeing, which I certainly lack. But, accepting. So I’m crazy. So I react to things in ways that normal human beings completely shouldn’t, and should probably be medicated. So I may never have normal interpersonal relationships or be able to live independently…assuming they let me live outside of a group home at some point before I turn 80. At which point I’ll be locked up anyways, because by then I’ll be old and have dementia or Alzheimer’s, probably. It’s this sort of optimism which is a strong indicator that I am suffering from mental illness. That and I’ve had a very crappy day, and when I have crappy days I assume that everyone in the world hates me and then systematically collect evidence to prove that everyone in the world hates me, because that’s a constructive use of my time. And also, I know that in reality my day wasn’t even that bad, but the fact that I also feel that it was so craptacular that my whole world and sense of self is collapsing, despite probably insurmountable evidence to the contrary which I can’t even perceive because I’m so crazy, is a freaking lot of evidence that…I’m crazy.

So, what happened, you, nonexistent audience who I’ve created to take the form of an empathetic listener because I’m the saddest person in the world, ask? Well, I will tell you. I suppose the repeated crying episodes all began when I spoke to the Canadian Student Loan Service Centre lady on the phone. She was rude. And also, she had a French-Canadian accent, so even if she wasn’t trying to be rude, she sounded rude. It took me a good two hours of searching on the stupid hardest-to-use-website-in-the-world to find the right number to call, and when I called, she was rude. And then she referred me to the stupid Canlearn website, which I can’t log onto, because I don’t have an valid account number. Even though I have an account. And I was told that Ontario student loans and Canadian student loans don’t speak to each other, so even though I updated my address with one, it didn’t update on the other, so a loan document was sent to my old address, where my aunt decided NOT to forward me my important government loan documents, or return them to sender, but instead just kept them. Which meant the student service centre had no idea I didn’t receive them, and refuses to believe I didn’t receive them, so started taking payments out of my account. Without informing me. And now I have to send them documents and check for outstanding interest which has accrued on my loan during the two month period it’s taken for all this to occur, even though I have irrefutable evidence that I’ve been a student, and therefore interest free, that entire time. And then I went back to the OSAP website and it put at 24 hour lock on my account and I have no idea if it was the French lady or just my stupid computer but it was very upsetting. And even though the $170 dollars which has already been taken out of my account, and the maybe $75 more dollars that I’ll have to pay in interest is not that big deal at all, it’s still was apparently the worst thing ever to happen to anyone ever, so of course it ruined my whole day. Which was gorgeous and sunny outside and everything. And I was so upset I didn’t even want to call my mom to talk about it because I didn’t want to cry to her on the phone. I contemplated calling my aunt to yell, but I didn’t want to appear crazy, because why appear crazy to others instead of just letting the crazy fester on the inside. So instead I took a shower, cried in the shower, got faint because I’m completely neurotic and am apparently supposed to take to my bed every time an overworked underpaid government employee isn’t entirely courteous to me on the phone. And finally I got dressed and did some chores, including buying text books, because if you’ve just lost a lot of money to the government, spending $200 on inflated textbooks for university courses which will systematically sap your spirit over the next four to eight months should really lighten things up. And now I won’t leave my room because I don’t want other people to see me cry, which I am doing, repeatedly, even though I’m watching a comedy. On my computer, because my fucking bitch of a roommate is in the next room and I don’t want to run into her in the commons area. I said hi to her this morning and she just stared at me and went into her room. Or maybe it was last night. Really, I don’t care. Except I completely do. What is her PROBLEM? Seriously. What? Gah.

Oh, and my not-boyfriend totally blew me off on MSN this afternoon when I really really needed some human contact. I said hi, he said ‘Hi!!!’ and then stopped talking to me. For two hours. Which, okay, he was setting up his new computer. But then he said about three words and then just stopped talking, again, except permanently this time. Which sucked. I gave him sex. Twice. Like, 36 hours ago. 48, tops. I remember living in a time when sexual favors were good for 3, maybe 4 days of polite small talk. He didn’t even make me breakfast. And I totally need to get something from his office, but I won’t ask him to open it for me. Because god forbid I get something out of my sexual encounters besides urinary tract infections and pregnancy scares.