It's a Friday night and I'm home. What the hell is wrong with me?? Blaaaaah. I feel so unenergetic, which isn't like me at all. I've been like this all week. Sorry if I've been a bitch, I'm out of it. We did a breathing test today in anatomy. It goes from 0-6 liters. 3-3.5 seemed to be the average, but Ashli got a 5 and when I took it I got a 1.9 . Holy shit I can't breathe. No, I'm not a smoker. I have asthma and that's how I breathe on a GOOD day. Pretty depressing isn't it? So I just told me dad about that and he starts bitching me out like it's my fault I can't breathe. He tells me I need to get off my ass and excercise. Ohhh! Because HE has room to speak. At 6' tall, 240lbs, he DOESN'T. His fucking idea of excercising is playing golf. "Huhu, let me go hit a a ball with a stick. Huhu, great excercise". Yet he tells me I need to go run? Fuck no. I worked out prior to spring break, and to some people's suprise I went about 5 times a week. Sorry I didn't go over spring break daddy, but that was my period of relaxation. Fucker. He's so fucking heartless sometimes. Like it's my fault that I can't breathe. Asshole. I know I'm not in the world's greatest condition, but I'm not overweight, I'm not unhealthy, and I don't shove my face with food all day... I JUST CAN'T BREATHE! I'm a bit lazy, but that's what my anti-depresants do. They make me happy, then wear me out. Sorry I'm not Mary Fucking Sunshine all the God damn time. I can't wait to get out of this fucking house. This entire town. It's too hipocritical. I need a change; I've been here too long.
He just came in to re-explain himself. Not much better. God, he just doesn't think before he says shit. I told him he was a heart attack waiting to happen. Ha. Asshole. You deserve it. He was all, "no no I'm fine. I go to the doctor's all the time". Yeah, so did Uncle Barry, Daddy. Remember? Your best friend from Ohio that died from a severe heart attack. No one knew anything was wrong with him, and then one day he just died. Do you remember that Daddy? He was in much better health than you, and that's what he got. You tell me I need to get off my ass. Ha. Get off your riding lawn mower and mow our acre of land with a normal mower, then maybe you can get off MY ass. He just upsets me so much sometimes. I don't get mad like I would with most people, but rather I break down in tears. Then I get yelled at for that. Then he wonders why I don't spend "qaulity time" with him. Dick head.
Oh! Another thing, I just found out in an AOL article that my anti-depresant (Effxor) can lead to suicide. Grrrreeeaaaaat. That along with Prozac, Zoloft, and others have been shown to make people more depressed and in certain cases suicidle. THEN WHY THE FUCK WOULD THEY PROSCRIBE THOSE MEDS TO DEPRESSED PEOPLE??? To hell with medicine if it is only going to make me worse. Blaaaah. Just blah. If I were smarter I'd become a doctor/scientist and work my ass off to find more ways to make medicines work the way they're supposed to. Give me an anti-depresant that makes me my once usual happy, bubbly self, and give me a damn asthma medication that opens my lungs up to an average person's breathing level. THAT would make me the happiest person on earth. Just give me meds that work.
Well my friends, I hope this entry has been an uplifting experience for us all! Hahaha. Right. Have a lovely night!
XoXo*Your Non-Breathing, Anti-Depressant Loving *morgan*
PS- Goosefraba!!! Say it with me GOOOOOSEFRRRAAAABAAAA. Don't know what I'm talking about? Go watch Anger Management.
PSS- I JUST BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF MY DAD!!!!! HAHAHAHA