When will the people around me realize that I am not available at their every disposal.
Doug called me around 4:45 this afternoon and said, "I'm in town and I'm coming by your work at 6:00 to talk."
My schedule on Fridays is hellacious. I do not get off work until 6pm, then I have to rush home to get ready for the gig, which involves putting on more make-up than usual. I have to do vocal warm-ups, and I need a few minutes of silence, before the hustle and bustle of doing three-hours of a very physical gig. Oh yeah, and I try to eat a little something, so I don't pass out. I have to do all of this between the hours of 6:30-7:15, because I have to be at the gig at 8pm. In other words, I have absolutely no time for anything or anyone on a Friday night.
I told Doug, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to blow you off, but I have no time to spare on Friday nights." I went on to explain why. Now, after six years he should know my hetic Friday night schedule, but as is the nature of the human being, my schedule does not matter. All that matters is that he has to get something off his chest. Well, guess what? There have been a countless number of times when he has promised to call me, or that I've been upset and he has not had the time to talk to me. Moreover, when I have been desparate to talk to him, I called first and made sure it was a convenient time. For him to

I am a useless human being. I cannot accomplish anything because of this disease that is eating at my brain and my soul. I cannot rely on anyone for support. Everyone is caught up in his or her own problems. I cannot bear to be a burden on anyone the way they burden me. Everyone is a flake. They just push and push me and tap me on the shoulder until my flesh is eaten away and sore from where they constantly tap.
My chest is heavy and I am always on the verge of tears. I want to mutilate myself until there is nothing left for anyone to burden. I hate my female parts that draw men like beasts. I want to cut them off, so I do not get anymore adulterating looks. I cannot concentrate on anything else but my own hatred for me and everything about me.

I feel as though I am stretched to the limits and if given the slightest tug, I will break.
I am sick to my stomach and I do not want to be anywhere but at home in bed. I do not want to talk to anyone. I feel impending doom. The last time I felt like this, the World Trade Center was attacked. I now know I felt bad because my sixth sense was telling me some horrific world-changing event would happen. Perhaps we will be hit by a meteor on Monday. Wouldn't that be spectacular?
Maybe I ate too much tofu last night.
Maybe I do not want to face the fact that my relationship of six years is ending. I don't even want to talk to him anymore. I am through with talking. I feel worse when I talk to him. He does not understand me. I do not want him to understand me anymore. I don't care, anymore.
The drugs don't seem to be working today.
I am failing my history class and it's my own fault. I don't have time for it. When I do have time to study, my body won't let me stay awake enough to read.
The other day I came home and slept from 6pm to 730am the next morning. I could have slept longer, but I cannot afford to lose my job. I cannot afford to fail my class. I do not want to play any gigs this weekend, but I have four that I am obligated to. I cannot fake it, by the way I feel today. I cannot give anything up. It is all crucial to me breaking this poverty pattern I was born into. I cannot work a dead-end job the rest of my life. I cannot be a miserable mom with 2.2 kids living in a cookie-cutter home in the suburbs. That to me would be hell.
I refuse, absolutely refuse to give up. There are people who are dying of cancer who have dreams and goals, that their bodies won't allow them to accomplish. My mind is trying to keep me from my accomplishments. I have to fulfill my dreams for all those who cannot. I have no choice.