fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

More bad.

This week I was treated to such delights as my own mother sending hate mail to my work account while I'm trying to deal with 4.3 million other things. Her accusations included that I am "... truly crazy", that I have afflicted her with "...death by a thousand cuts" and that I am "...not the girl she thought I was."

All this because I will not tell her everything about my life; particularly when it is not my story alone to tell.

Truly, she is beyond interfering and controlling.

It's lucky for me that I'm medicated to the gills so that I've been able to handle her maniacal outbursts with some semblance of calm; but it's not a good time.

Admittedly there would be no "good" time but, if there were to be a good time, right now really isn't it.

I'm so tired.

There are too many things going on right now when all I really want to do is sleep. I can't get enough sleep right now. I should be working about 16 hours a day if I'm to have any hope of getting on top of everything, but I can't muster more than 8.

It's dark and cold and everyone else keeps finishing at 5pm. I don't want to be the last person in the office. I don't drive; and it's dark and cold and there's no one to come home to.

I'm beginning to despair of the probable likelihood of my shit coming together for the best.