Never thought I would dread sleeping as I did, fearing the lack of control slumber brings.

Awake since 5:30, with only two hours of sleep.

The coughing, after the last four days of silent hell, is finally doing what it's supposed to do. Doesn't make it any less obnoxious, just much less hurty.

That said, I couldn't fall asleep until at least 03:15 last night due to coughing spasms that wouldn't go away.

Then at 05:00 I woke up finding myself clawing fiercely at my fingers and wrist, unable to stop myself, feeling the hundreds of blisters on my fingers pop and the liquid inside coating my fingers.

Half an hour later I quelled the urge to scratch and laid my hands above my bed covers, idly considering the possibility of getting Elizabethan collars for my hands. My coughing spasms resumed soon after due to my uncovered throat and sternum, at which point I thought since I don't seem to be too tired, screw this. Not going to chance waking up scratching up myself again today.

Tiredness is pressing on my forehead now; maybe I will go take a nap sometime this afternoon.

I'm tired of my disabled hands. I can't do much when they're this swollen from inflammation. I also can't do much studying with this lack of sleep, either.

But I'm almost scared of sleeping and what it not brings.

Father wonders why I never tell him shit.

When I tell him about what I have been/will be doing, he's unresponsive.

When anything bad happens and he is told, he tells me off. Doesn't look very much like he cares about how I am doing and care more about what I have done wrong.

Father wonders why I never tell him shit.

Seriously not cool.

Father resorted to insulting my lack of psychology spirit when I refused to discuss certain family situations with him.

Oh Father, how little you know I do this because I am disgusted with how my thoughts have become tainted from you and just don't want to encourage this.

And for once you're not about to rile me up just by calling me names.

Emmense hate for my uterus right now.

So. Much. Hate.

The hurt...IT DOESN"T STOOOOP

First it was healthy hurt
Then it was sickly hurt
Now it's the "womenly woes" kind of hurt.
.
.
.
.
.
.
ow.

Cannot sleep cannot sleep cannot sleep cannot sleep
worried
sick
worried
unsettled
worried
cannot sleep

Seems like nothing good ever comes out of waiting these days.

I keep doing it anyway.

Itchy

All the fucking time.

Stings when I move, stings when I wash.

Have been waking up in the middle of the night finding myself relieving my itchy hands, scratching them and the blisters up. Also haven't been able to sleep unless both hands are curled around my bed's metal frame to make the itching less noticiable. This is probably why I dislike warm hands on myself--either something's wrong or i'm too warm--it's never good.

About what I said before about getting thinner--that's a complete lie. I'm fatter and more disgusting than ever. With a worsening temper and dulling outlook on life. Don't understand how some puts up with it. I certainly wouldn't want to have much to do with myself.

Thought appetite came back, but instead learned a valuable lesson on the difference between "appetite" and "not trying to throw up". Stomach still not liking the amount of starch consumed--still struggling to deal with the load of mostly rice and choy sum six hours later.

Oh well, involuntary but not entirely unwelcomed diet time! Plus it might have misdirected/wrongly explained an otherwise slightly sticky situationa little while ago, so other than not able to enjoy the past few days' good food, is not so bad at all.

Was told to have looked thinner already. Suppose that's what three days of quartered food intake would do.