God’s a brat (and so am I.)
What a day! I am currently grateful for Clorox bleach products. The mess I’ve inherited is so difficult to clean up that I’ve been spraying Clorox products on the bathroom tile and just leaving, letting it do its magic to whiten the grout and remove stains. I’ve almost got a shower stall that beckons you inside at this point by being white and shiny.
I’ve got quite a lot of tile and grout to clean up and even some unsealed wall patches, but now that I’ve seen this product go to town on nicotine patina, I’m no longer daunted like I was. And an unforeseen bonus: whatever has been ailing my sinuses is now taking a hike after the incidental inhalation. (I know it’s bad, mkay? I just forgot to wear a mask. Meh. At least the area is ventilated.)
God told me that I have cancer today. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it would explain some things I’ve been dealing with. If it is true, I’ve had cancer since I was eight years old. He blames pizza.
He also told me I know how to cure it. I’m like, say what now? Me? Li’l ole me? Cure cancer? Well, okay, but I need empirical evidence of it before I can agree. It’s a food-based cure, which a lot of people aren’t going to like, but eh… it’s the cure, yo. I don’t care if you like it and neither does he.
Sir Deli Man is on my mind again today. I mean, it’s obvious I’ve got a thing for him, right? I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to stop keeping my hands to myself, but I’m there. Which, for a lot of people is like… second nature. But not for this autistic bitch right here. Nope.
It takes me eons, ages, a long, long time. So much reassurance. Tons of work. I have insecure attachment issues. Abandonment issues. Dissociative identity disorder (D.I.D.) Social anxiety. Generalized anxiety. Depression. Oppositional Defiant Disorder. ADHD. Conduct disorder. I’ve long suspected I’m bi-polar but I haven’t been able to get that one diagnosed. I definitely have an eating disorder. And, lately, paranoia and obsessive compulsion. I absolutely have PTSD. God tells me I’ve had schizophrenia since age 9. Psychosis.
In short, I’m fucked up in the head. Which means my “cure” might not be curing anything, unless I have proof I have cancer somewhere. Which He says I do. An MRI taken last year of my bowels at SMM Health in St. Louis.
Even though I’m clearly a psychologist’s playground, I can function by doing two things: eating well and cleaning / organizing my house. My organization isn’t really OCD in my eyes, because my ex-husband told me he had OCD. He was obsessed with lining things up straight rather than being clean.
It’s only a disorder if it hinders your life. Schizophrenia is my biggest enemy, sadly. It leads me to be disorganized. If I could just be organized, then everything would be easier. Better. That’s why I’m working on it right now.
But you’re reading this because you want to cure cancer, aren’t you?
Okay, I’ll tell you the cure:
remove all sources of sugar + add amino acids
(BONE BROTH, YOU BONEHEAD.)
Angel-Sansara 