I've been waiting to take those anti-anxiety pills until a day when I don't feel sick, that way when I take them, I'll know more about the side effects. However, that day may not come for a while. I guess I'll take them tomorrow. We'll see what happens.
Steph and Dylan were both away for the night. I thought it might be relaxing having the apartment to myself. It was certainly quieter. Too quiet. I spent most of the night trying to get someone to talk to. I called my good friend, who said he may call me later. He didn't. Because of the sensitive nature of most of the things I may end up be writing about this guy, I would prefer to just call him... Oliver. I like that name. Steph hates it because all she hears is the word, "Olive."
Anyway, I have to be at work at eight a.m. for a store meeting tomorrow, where we all sit in the dining room of the restaurant, and talk about how the store is doing. Sometimes there are interesting activities that I can only assume are meant to make you want to slam your head on the tables till it's over.
I think another reason I want to start writing things down is because, as I said, my memory is terrible. Because of this, I can remember the gist of my past, but with absolutely no details. This should begin to explain why most of the stuff you will read here is mundane and unimportant.
People in my apartment complex complain a lot about how "noisy" we are. After staying in the dead-quiet apartment all night, I can't see how we are the noisiest. I keep hearing loud bumps and windows slamming, and across the way, a guy has his window open and his TV on. These aren't complaints though, ambient noises have never really bothered me. I don't understand those uppity neighbors I always seem to get, who complain every time I shut my fridge. I seem to have a knack for finding people who would rather not have ears at all.
I watched more House M.D. tonight, video chatted with Steph, and tried to get Starcraft to work with my brother, who lives in Santa Barbara for college at UCSB. This was the original Starcraft, gloriously manufactured in 1998, and the game my brother used to beat the shit out of me in throughout my childhood. Seriously, this guy seemed like a god of war at this game. We never got it to work. He says he'll try to download some things and get it working for tomorrow. "Unfortunately" I have a fun night planned for tomorrow with the empty apartment and the lady-friend.
It's two in the morning, and I have to get up at six-thirty. I'm afraid to go to sleep, because I might wake up feeling nauseous.
But life seems to always be that way.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
To Whom It May Concern:
The reason I'm making this diary... well, there isn't really a reason. A friend of mine was telling me about how his mother kept a diary when he was an infant, and she recently gave it to him to read. He had something wrong with his lungs, and had to get surgery. He told me that the words from the diary were so innocent it made him cry.
Now you know me, I'm a sucker for that type of thing. I guess I'm hoping one day that I can stir that type of emotion in someone I care about, too.
That reason, mixed with my terrible memory, gives me enough reason to start writing things down, I suppose.
My name's Bryce. I'm twenty years old. I live in an apartment with my friend Dylan, and my girlfriend Steph. I pay six hundred fifty dollars a month, he pays five hundred, she pays one. The reason for the difference is because I was paying six hundred fifty at my last apartment. I had to move out because it was getting crazy with drug use. Not me, but everyone that ever came over to that place. When you start doing drugs, the first thing that goes is your discretion. Followed closely by ambition, and then the sense of how intelligent or insightful you actually are. Dylan only pays five hundred because he's a full-time student, and Steph one hundred because we kinda just threw her on the lease and figured she'd be here a hell of a lot anyway. This way I guess she's helping with the water bill and groceries.
My father just bought me a 1975 Corvette Stingray. When I first turned 18, I inherited my grandfather's 1994 Ford F-150XL. It was a beautiful truck, and it saved my life, too. I'll write that down a little later. That's an entry of it's own, and I need to be getting some sleep soon.
So, I've been working on the car with the spare money I have, which is not much. I work at In-N-Out, which I believe is a respectable company. In the fall I will finally stop dicking around and reallygo to college. I have taken a language class and a philosophy class, but now I'm going to go full-time, and start taking GE's to get into UCI, (which shouldn't be too hard) to become a lawyer.
Between money, work, school, and other depressing innuendo's, I believe now is a good time to mention I'm smoking about twelve cigarettes a day.
I should also mention that I'm sick. It started three years ago when I took a mission trip to Honduras for two weeks. (That's what I get.) And be careful, because I'm about to go into detail.
When I came back, I had diarrhea about once every month or so. Pretty bad bouts of it. But it never came to a point where it was bad enough to see a doctor. Eventually, about a year ago, I started keeping Immodium in the car, just in case. And for the past three months, my stomach has been extremely upset. I have been waking up in the middle of the night-- Well, I just noticed I missed an important part of this story: I have an extreme fear of throwing up. It's the only thing that I'm really, really afraid of. Not spiders, not heights, not elevators, but throwing up. If anything goes wrong in my abdomen at all, I immediately attribute the word "nausea" to it. My dad, at one point in time, tried to calm me down about it by saying that at least it wasn't something like bridges or dogs, something that would affect my daily life. I mean, imagine being too afraid to cross a bridge if you had to cross one on your commute to work. However, recently, it has been affecting my life. In a big, big way. I wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes up to three times a week, and immediately start feeling nauseous. I'll have an anxiety attack, (sweating, shaking, freaking out,) and eventually it wears off with the lingering thought of, "if I was going to throw up, it would have happened by now, and I would be continuously feeling worse and not any better." These attacks can last anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour.
Also, I get extremely nervous eating food simply because it may give me food poisoning, my worst nightmare. That and the stomach flu. And let me clarify, I mean eating any food. Every time I eat, the thought is prevalent in my mind, will this make me sick?
I can't ride roller coasters anymore. I can't even sit in the backseat of a car.
The worst part is, I don't see a solution. I went to the doctor, he scheduled me for a blood test and an abdominal ultrasound. They both came back clean. When I went back in, I took a little bit more control of the situation, and started expressing my opinions at to what we should do next. (He did everything I thought we should do, I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.) He gave me the paperwork to give a stool sample, (I figured that may be where it started, A parasite or something,) and gave me a months worth of anti-anxiety medicine. Upon closer examination, the anxiety medicines side effects include nausea and/or insomnia. What a dream.
And sickness begot depression.
Now you know me, I'm a sucker for that type of thing. I guess I'm hoping one day that I can stir that type of emotion in someone I care about, too.
That reason, mixed with my terrible memory, gives me enough reason to start writing things down, I suppose.
My name's Bryce. I'm twenty years old. I live in an apartment with my friend Dylan, and my girlfriend Steph. I pay six hundred fifty dollars a month, he pays five hundred, she pays one. The reason for the difference is because I was paying six hundred fifty at my last apartment. I had to move out because it was getting crazy with drug use. Not me, but everyone that ever came over to that place. When you start doing drugs, the first thing that goes is your discretion. Followed closely by ambition, and then the sense of how intelligent or insightful you actually are. Dylan only pays five hundred because he's a full-time student, and Steph one hundred because we kinda just threw her on the lease and figured she'd be here a hell of a lot anyway. This way I guess she's helping with the water bill and groceries.
My father just bought me a 1975 Corvette Stingray. When I first turned 18, I inherited my grandfather's 1994 Ford F-150XL. It was a beautiful truck, and it saved my life, too. I'll write that down a little later. That's an entry of it's own, and I need to be getting some sleep soon.
So, I've been working on the car with the spare money I have, which is not much. I work at In-N-Out, which I believe is a respectable company. In the fall I will finally stop dicking around and reallygo to college. I have taken a language class and a philosophy class, but now I'm going to go full-time, and start taking GE's to get into UCI, (which shouldn't be too hard) to become a lawyer.
Between money, work, school, and other depressing innuendo's, I believe now is a good time to mention I'm smoking about twelve cigarettes a day.
I should also mention that I'm sick. It started three years ago when I took a mission trip to Honduras for two weeks. (That's what I get.) And be careful, because I'm about to go into detail.
When I came back, I had diarrhea about once every month or so. Pretty bad bouts of it. But it never came to a point where it was bad enough to see a doctor. Eventually, about a year ago, I started keeping Immodium in the car, just in case. And for the past three months, my stomach has been extremely upset. I have been waking up in the middle of the night-- Well, I just noticed I missed an important part of this story: I have an extreme fear of throwing up. It's the only thing that I'm really, really afraid of. Not spiders, not heights, not elevators, but throwing up. If anything goes wrong in my abdomen at all, I immediately attribute the word "nausea" to it. My dad, at one point in time, tried to calm me down about it by saying that at least it wasn't something like bridges or dogs, something that would affect my daily life. I mean, imagine being too afraid to cross a bridge if you had to cross one on your commute to work. However, recently, it has been affecting my life. In a big, big way. I wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes up to three times a week, and immediately start feeling nauseous. I'll have an anxiety attack, (sweating, shaking, freaking out,) and eventually it wears off with the lingering thought of, "if I was going to throw up, it would have happened by now, and I would be continuously feeling worse and not any better." These attacks can last anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour.
Also, I get extremely nervous eating food simply because it may give me food poisoning, my worst nightmare. That and the stomach flu. And let me clarify, I mean eating any food. Every time I eat, the thought is prevalent in my mind, will this make me sick?
I can't ride roller coasters anymore. I can't even sit in the backseat of a car.
The worst part is, I don't see a solution. I went to the doctor, he scheduled me for a blood test and an abdominal ultrasound. They both came back clean. When I went back in, I took a little bit more control of the situation, and started expressing my opinions at to what we should do next. (He did everything I thought we should do, I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.) He gave me the paperwork to give a stool sample, (I figured that may be where it started, A parasite or something,) and gave me a months worth of anti-anxiety medicine. Upon closer examination, the anxiety medicines side effects include nausea and/or insomnia. What a dream.
And sickness begot depression.
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