For all the people who insist that God will ‘never give you more than you can handle’ - where the FUCK do you (or God) get off deciding my upper limit for bullshit?

I picked up the last of my shit from the apartment yesterday about an hour before I had my ‘emergency’ appointment with my therapist. She suggested I start a “gratitude journal” to help temper some of my more volatile mood swings - as if grief isn’t a valid reason for feeling slightly more depressed than usual. Said journal is probably just going to devolve into a sloshy pile of word vomit while I slam my face repeatedly against my keyboard until I can’t feel anything except the jittery buzz of the four successive cups of coffee I had around 6PM this evening. 

Alternately, it will become an endless stream of run-on sentences since I can’t be fucked to edit. My high school English teacher is probably rolling in his grave.

I don’t know what to write. Maybe a cute physical journal would help motivate me? God knows I need more cat-themed office supplies to clutter up my fucking desk. I literally just opened Notepad on my laptop since I’m about 95% sure I won’t keep this shit up - writing has never felt meaningful unless I know that it’s for someone. Dr Hall would probably say that all of this is “for” me, presumably on the offhand chance I ever want to go back and review the events of what may very well have been the worst fucking day of my life.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

…so far, anyway. Let’s try to stay optimistic.

A brief review of the past week (for my masochistic future self, I guess):

* Russell Allen (henceforth to be referred to in this journal as Raging Asshole) ended his seven-year relationship with me on what I can only assume was a whim. Or because of the crush he developed on our neighbor.

* I had three days to move out of our shared apartment before said neighbor’s lease was up and she was determined to move in.

* I, and my three cats, are now stuck in my parents’ basement until such a time as I can move into the shitty one-bedroom the landlady is (graciously?) leasing to me in the same complex, rendering me my ex’s new neighbor in a painfully ironic twist.

* And, presumably because The Powers That Be decided that I was more than capable of handling the previous three bullets, the WHO just announced that we’re all officially in a global pandemic. Whatever the fuck that means.

I’m not sure if writing this is making me feel better or just slightly more nihilistic. Will check back later when I decide.