Anti-ACLU-2 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How does a manic depressive 22 year old, grooming herself for a lawsuit from the Civil Liberties Union, preparing herself for destruction of the parental unit; how does she respond to all this?
“im drinking a ton of coffee to stay awake and work on these photos before i leave at 430
i still have to shower, walk the dog and a few more photos i lined up to finish
but now my birthmom is talking to me which is distracting me and im shaking haha”
Second text to secondary friend from college with whom I have nothing in common but talking ‘sex’ while drinking and popping pills.
“I spilled the coke on my sweat pants and I have tight jeans. The only pair of pants my mother didn’t pick out!”
Third text of despair to friend who now wants me gone, I’m sure of it.

“my doctor forgot to write a script for it because I took too many last week.
i tried calling four times and havent heard from her.”
“my doctor forgot to write a script for it because I took too many last week.
i tried calling four times and havent heard from her.”
Two separate texts. Two separate times.
What is a gal to do?
Again, I chose to over indulge in pills and sugar and coffee. I have back fat spilling out over my pants. My hands shake like a heroin addict one day into detox. My thighs are rubbing together making me sound like a cricket.
I will tell you this; when I am happy, I pretend. I am never happy. I am particularly not happy if someone I know is happy and they are having a better go of it than I.
My english sucks. My GPA, which I brag about in my resume, at the height of college, it was A 2.9.
I stutter in difficult situations. Every situation is difficult other than masturbation and porn up in the attic. I have dyslexia. I am deaf in one ear and can’t see worth a shit.
I blame everyone for this. Birthmother down south somewhere; probably hanging with the ‘Tom’ of the week picking up a new and improved STD.
I blame my two sisters. Freak one and freak two. They both got stuck with birthmother Josephine. I managed to break loose. Doesn’t matter my life is their fault.
Mother Theresa and Father Floyd drink and eat. Shit and grade papers. Scratch their asses and pat each other on the back.
I am jittery therefore; I am a waste of energy!