Another night awake, hoping to get some relief from the incessant harassment from my neighbours and random strangers, not so random anymore but faceless as I try to focus on Uni and other things. Stronger now, maybe that's because of a less stressful and demanding schedule or that I have become used to the mental to and froing. I need someone to talk to, to be able to say how it is. But that doesn't seem possible. I don't seem to get any opportunity to do that. Even with my psychiatrist. I'm too scared of the consequences and battling to try and be assertive at the Hospital is terribly difficult although I have plucked up the courage to do this of late. I missed my meds yesterday. My fluctuating discipline did its disappearing trick and I got drunk to the point of memory loss. Overslept. Full of regret and disappointment in myself. If only I could keep normal hours and a sensible lifestyle. Will things really change if I opened up to my psychiatrist? There are no comebacks when you are silent. Although I don't feel silent. I feel opened up like a bleeding wound that never heals. Is this a normal position that I find myself in? Surely I am not the only one. If I keep clinging on to the sporadic hope that I find maybe I will find a space to be me. I feel torn between my real emotions and this front that has helped me to help myself. If only I could be me. Although I have never really been me. At least not since my paranoia. At first it was just self consciousness but now it permeates me when I least expect it. No, I expect it. I brace myself for the next hit of confusion. The next slap in the face of the harshness that this world has to offer. I long for anonymity. But I don't have that. Even here I am bracing myself for a comeback that hits hard. At the one place I should have comfort. Although it has good and bad. That's like anywhere right? At the Hospital. Maybe I am looking for the wrong thing. Expecting too much. Asking the wrong questions. Its all my fault. My stupid brain and those chemical imbalances that have to juggle like some circus performer. So here I am again. Writing. I feel better. For now. Thankful for this outlet. Somewhere to try to be me. My tumble drier clicks its last turn. I look forward to another coffee. Then back to my exercise regime. The rain has stopped and it is getting light. Its another day. Another chance. I have another chance. In more ways than one. For that I am grateful.