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.
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