grounds for divorce

So I booted up my computer thinking I would look up some porn and get off while I had some time to myself.
I ended up reading PostSecret and commenting on a nifty blog I love.

...is this what my life has turned into?
Not really complaining... it's just interesting. Two years ago if I were in this position, I would have thrown on some Lovedrug or Unter Null, changed into a corset, grabbed a razor and pleasured myself until I lost my mind in the blood, the rage, the ecstasy. Now?
Right now I'm in sweatpants and a t-shirt, listening to Tegan and Sara and writing in this damn blog.
I'm healthier in my head, and somehow I feel much less interesting. I don't struggle as much as I used to-- all those thoughts I was fighting to work out, I've decided on them, I've found where I stand with them, my opinions are made. Now my anguish is over the things I've decided: I have no social life because my radical feminism and hardcore liberal beliefs alienate people, my activism in gay and animal and human rights leaves me exhausted and hopeless because every day WE ARE GETTING NOWHERE, I've taken it upon myself to become educated in politics and economics so that I know exactly what is wrong with the system we live in, my religious beliefs have become defined.
I don't feel nearly as interesting as I used to.
And I don't know what to do about it.
I know I'm not really healthier-- I don't cut because it breaks Jude's heart when he sees the cascade of scars, not because I don't feel the need to. So instead I've gone back to starving myself just to have some sort of pain, some sort of reminder of the piece of shit I am. Granted, I have a great body because of it now, but I miss my metal friends... I need to find a way to slip under his radar, I'm sick of this. I don't dress in my usual steampunk/loligoth style because I'm so damn tired all the time, I can't find the energy to make anything new or even to get all dressed up like I used to when I go out. Why the fuck am I so tired all the time? It's not just from the 40 hr weeks, there's something wrong with me. It's ridiculous how exhausted I am. I don't feel the gaping hole in my chest not because it's disappeared, more because I've grown so numb to everything in my life that I can't even feel that anymore. IT'S STILL THERE, I just can't feel a damn thing and that includes the pain. Fuck, I miss the pain; at least then I felt SOMETHING. Jesus Christ, my Grand-pere is dead and I can barely bring myself to cry about it; the man who was my life for so long, the man who raised me, my best friend and mentor IS ASH AND SIX FEET UNDER and what do I do? I CAN BARELY CRY?! I disgust myself. Even my choice in literature lately has been boring and unsatisfying; granted, City of Saints and Madmen has me starry eyed, but I can't bring myself to finish it and I don't know why. Perhaps the 50 pages about squids has me less than enthralled... Part of the problem is that I'm not nearly as angry as I used to be-- then injustice does not hold sway over me but I've thrown my hands up. I'm too exhausted to fight with every person I see. It's ridiculous to claim I'm healthier. Fuck this, I'd say I'm more sick than the day I went into the hospital.

So! Next post is brainstorm of what to do. What to do, what to do.
Arden, what are you going to do?

...I don't know.