Stress Mismanagement

There’s been a lot of dramatic bullshit swirling around lately. Like a bullshit tornado. Dripping stink and stress all around, steaming surprises at every corner. People are sucking at life.


The inability for so many to manage their shit is hard for me to comprehend.

This has been swirling around for awhile now, and I’ve been able to just compartmentalize and make excuses. However, yesterday we found out that a friend from high school killed himself the night before. Shot himself on his front porch, found by another one of his friends.

He and I were friends in high school. There was one summer in particular where he and his friend and Gert and I rode around in his Baretta, jamming out to music, listening to tunes, underage drinking cold Coors Light PartyBalls…our names fell alphabetically so that he and I were in line with each other for everything. Assemblies, class nights, senior nights, graduation, class pictures.

At some point, he went off the rails. Drugs. Prison. The whole nine yards. He was not the friend I knew. Yet he was here. He was alive. He survived. And he continued to make horrible choices. Addicts do that. And he was that. Indeed he was that.

But he was alive. Living this life.

And he threw it away.

Talking to SP today about it and about how I’m so pissed. Our Chris doesn’t get to stay and this one? This one just fucking throws it away??? A Tale of Two Chris’…one who didn’t get the time to change the world…and the other who didn’t change and threw his time away.

I’m sideways. I’ve had it up to HERE.

The stress of this, comprised with the actual managing of my own shit has presented itself in some amazing back and neck pain. No sleep last night. None. And who can’t sleep on a fabulously stormy rainy night? This girl.

I’m working from home today. I emailed homework to my professor for class. Home.  Homework, organizing, writing and reading.

And a massage this afternoon.

Hopefully it helps.


3 thoughts on “Stress Mismanagement

  1. Me too sis. Me too.
    the massage therapist, after a 90 minute intense massage, said, You have got to let go of some of that stuff you’re holding onto.—my thought was no shit, lamar. No shit.

    baby steps.

    I love you.


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