i’ve never seen the desert before, to be so close to nothing

this one’s a doozy.

it just hit me like a truck while i was trying to fall asleep the other night: i wish i had killed my self years ago. i’ve wasted so much time on earth. i used to think i could be a different person if i was just in a different place. but i’ve lived long enough, and i’ve travelled far enough that i know i will never be able to change.

lol i will never be able to put my family through my suicide tho.

yet i can’t stop thinking about it when each day ends. i’m just tired, i tell myself each night at 1am. do you ever get so tired that suicide seems like the only option. lol i can sleep when i’m dead.

i will probably not kill myself. so who the fuck cares how much pain i am in, right?

sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt, and all that shit, right?

i broke down in the doctor’s office crying when the doc asked if i was okay, after i filled out the stupid depression questionnaire.

i just feel trapped, i told her.

and i do. i feel like a pathetic little animal. like i would rather chew off my own leg than live here. lol.

i love how everyone is okay with how much my life feels like hell, as long as i don’t kill myself and make them feel bad. it isn’t about me, it’s all about them. like people are always saying there are worse things than death, but they don’t believe it. people will say anything to me, all the lies, as long as i don’t make that final step off the edge.

as an abrupt change of subject, we ate indian food after the doctor. it was good and spicy. lol my mom is so oblivious to everything, good for her. she thinks today was a good day.

i would do anything to let everyone remain oblivious in my life. but my resolve is crumbling. i don’t know how much i can keep this shit up. i need to speak to two of my profs and ask them for some sort of leniency for my shit attendance and school-work ethic. the other one is the religion one and since i’m getting more than 100% in that class currently, i’m not too worried.

okay for now i’m done venting to myself. what a great way to end the day: whining.

patient time will carry me, on her back without a sigh

the basic af poster above my head, 'cause why not go with the night theme

i wake up four times, tossing, turning. force myself back to sleep all four times. finally, the fifth time, i look at my phone to see the time: it is still only 12:30AM. i fell asleep around 10. does time freaking warp when we sleep?

i have to get up around 6. i figure then i get plenty of sleep. but here i am, wide awake. tense. alert. mentally disheveled. it’s that damn paper. i have to write that damn paper tomorrow. it is only four to six pages and i already know the material well, but i’m awake now, my mind drawn to and from the idea of it like a moth to a damn light bulb, and i don’t even feel like falling back to sleep.

i work tomorrow, only 7-12, but i’m trying to rationalize staying up all night and then working and then having all of the rest of tomorrow to write the paper. i’d be tired, and the next day i have to wake up again around 6, go to school around 7, come home around 2:30, and then i can sleep. and the next day i have work. and the next i have class again.

friday, i go to the doctor’s at 9:30. i don’t wanna go and explain everything that’s wrong with me. explain what new meds i’m on and what meds i no longer take. i don’t wanna go through all the hassle of a doctor poking and prodding me. when they hear i have depression, i don’t want them to ask all the questions that come along with that. how often do you think of harming yourself: alll the days, most of the days, a few of the days, or none of the days? ALL THE DAYS.

on a scale of 1-5, how badly do you wanna fuck with death? a solid 4, actually, now that i think about it. which isn’t that bad. see, things are looking up already. lol like the doc will even ask that tho.

now, again, unhappily, i am going to try to fall asleep. i yawn a lot but they’re deceptive. they lure me into a false sense of sleepiness, and then i just lay awake forever, waiting for the sun.

1i4ovmebupcz

yeah there’s no title, but it’s not a big deal, i tell myself, it’s just because i’m lazy.

i had an appointment with my therapist yesterday.

told her most of it, how i’ve been breaking down lately, a lot at night. how it’s been rough.

we talked a lot about suicide. lol, i doubt i would ever succeed in killing myself, or even break down enough to try again, but doesn’t mean i can’t dream.

i thought of something bad because of something she said. she talked about a funeral of a friend that had killed herself, and how she wished her friend could see how much she was loved.

but what use is that love?  it’s easy to love someone who is gone, easy to preserve all the false, lies of memories of happier days. but i’m not happy, and it has tons to do with the people who supposedly love me. my mom, my dad, my siblings. none of them ever tried all that hard to reach me in this mess. tried to understand where i’m at in my head. the voices i hear, the voices that tear into me. they are their voices, all the hurtful things they have told me. that i’m a disappointment, an embarrassment, how i ruin everything. that i don’t even try. i don’t know… i’m just kind of stuck right now, not in the right frame of mind to see anything clearly. things kind of suck when they’re not sugarcoated. life is a bitter, bitter pill.

both my mom and my therapist asked me yesterday, separately, if i wanted to try tms again. i said no. i didn’t tell my mom that it was because i didn’t think it would help anything. i am at my wit’s end. i can’t figure out what will help anything, so i’m just trying to fly beneath the radar, go to bed early with a few pills in hand to help me sleep, and try not to fuck up my life too badly in the meantime. i have a doctor’s appointment coming up. my therapist said she was going to try to bump up my appointment with my psychiatrist. i groaned at that. like, what is she going to do? put me on another medication, that i have probably already tried? ugh i’m just a mess, and at this point, i doubt pills will help anything. maybe this is it? maybe this is just who i am, now and forever. whatever, i’ll keep going, grudgingly.

yeah, i don’t know..

i guess i’m back being a depressed piece of shit who makes grand declarations to be better one day and overdoses on clonazepam to sleep and blacks out, the next.

i really don’t know.

last night i really thought it was going to be it. i’m like, i wanna be dead or hospitalized by the time this night is through. and here i sit, neither. thought about even texting my therapist, but i doubted it would make anything better so i didn’t.

i don’t know how to describe the feelings i feel. have you ever overdosed on medications, fell asleep, and woke up, not sure if you are disappointed or relieved? yeah, me neither, lol.

i just feel ugly and twisted, on the inside. every way to every positive or even just rational thought is just a labyrinth that can’t be overcome, that i just don’t have the energy to traverse sometimes.

you know, it’s funny, the thing that set me off was so dumb. this girl i’ve known for years deleted me off facebook. i don’t know when and i don’t know why, but hey, its okay, my mind does. it’s because she hates me. no, that’s not believable, i’m not dynamic enough to hate. it’s just that she realized, as she saw my name pop up on her little facebook friends thing, that she just didn’t give a shit about me. that i’m just not worth being connected to in any way. and then i thought this thought, about all of the people on facebook. they all think i’m just a big piece of not-worth-mentioning.

and then of course my mind just goes into overdrive of negativity. i think about all the people, all of the so-called friends i have online, irl, everywhere, and how they never even spend a minute of their day thinking about me.

that’s one of the main reasons i get sick of being friends with people. they never give a shit about me. i think it’s going great and i do every little stupid friendly thing i can think of. but it’s for nothing. i could slit my fucking wrists and bleed out in public, all melodramatic style, and years later i would just be a somewhat sad cautionary tale for them. something they aspire to never be. they wouldn’t remember me, they would remember that last hurrah of blood. idk…

i just really hurt for no real, apparent reason. i didn’t even really like said girl on facebook very much. i never got the impression she liked me that much, either.

it just hurts, because i bust my ass trying to seem normal and kind, nice and well-adjusted, and i’m pretty sure people just end up seeing right thru it, if only in a subconscious way. i just wanna be liked. i don’t care if i’m loved, i just want people to be mildly fond of me. i can’t even freaking manage mildly fond.

today at work i spent the whole time just fuming on the inside, crying on the inside, screaming, all on the inside. on the outside, i laughed at people’s jokes and tried to make myself useful. i thought i could salvage what was left of my emotional sanity if work just went well enough. it didn’t go well enough. i’m home now, and i’m honestly thinking about how fucking shit everything is. in my little world, in the whole world, shit, shit, shit. we can go on twitter and joke about it all we want, we can have polite discussions about it all we want, but it doesn’t change the truth.

but hey, again, i don’t know.

 

illusion dressed in a fantasy

my mind isn’t my own lately. you know that feeling when you really really wanna like something but you just can’t? you are in a place, and want to enjoy yourself, but your mind won’t shut up and enjoy? it’s like me and game of thrones. shit example, but whatever. there is just too much going on in the show. funny, as i read the books, but the show, i just refuse (NO, my mind refuses) to get into. i’m just not in the game. ha game. game of thrones. lol.

and armela. i would call her one of my best friends, though i know that is rather piteous as she has like a million friends outside of work, and she probably doesn’t consider me a best friend. that actually makes me really sad as i write it. what am i, 12, that i care about best friends. but i have had very few friends in my life. what can i say? TRUST ISSUES.

but i can’t find a good reason to text her or call her or tag her in anything stupid. ever since she quit, i have felt like i lost something. for the first week after she was gone, i was in a terrible mood, and couldn’t decide, or admit, why. i had a short temper, which is unusual for me, and i found myself annoyed by everyone. i’m still annoyed. i really just want to be something other than i am. but at the same time, paradoxically, i just want to be who i am. i want to be in the moment, present, and ready to read a fucking book or call a friend. i feel so inadequate to do either.

my mom’s friend marina’s mother killed herself by hanging a few days ago.

sometimes i think bad people like me create our own hells for ourselves before we die.

i still feel like the same little girl, crying by herself at night.

this game of cruelty hardly becomes me

monday is the final, yay

i work the weekend, i work monday-wednesday, and then come early saturday, we are headed to cancun.

yesterday was a bad day. i set mom off and i felt bad about it. i always get suicidal overload after that. like, i always have suicidal thoughts in a casual way, but this new, more sinister voice just whispers to me even more ardently, that i was right before, that i really should kill myself now, that people really are better off without me. i’m better today i think.

our final project is giving out bags of candy and inspirational notes to random people on campus, which is funny and nice. i also have my final essay almost done, which is great.

this is really an easy class. we can make up one test if we wish. i’m already getting an a-, per my usual. but i want a full-blown A if i can get it. so i’m making up exam 2, trying to get 100% on it. i’m feeling better, i guess. more energized.

the more you change the less you feel

i feel better this week so far. even though i know i did shitty on the test, i don’t care much. i will do better on the unit 3 exam. next week is the last week of class. yaaaaay. i will kind of miss the teacher though. she has a lot of awesome things to say. i don’t work at all the rest of the week as far as i know, which is weird. though they may call me in early mornings to train in the cash office. next week i work three days. haha i barely do anything man. its hilarious how tired i am though all the time. it’s unreal. i still think my brothers hate me, but what can i o about it? nothing. i don’t think thomas does, but tyler and adam just think i’m stupid. which i am. but does that mean i don’t deserve respect? and it’s not like tyler and adam are fucking geniuses either. though my mom acts like adam is. not surprising, every parent has a favorite. when i started college, at the open house thing in boone, i had kind of a panic attack and my mom’s true colors shone through. she hissed at me in front of everyone, how i was a screw-up, and she knew i would mess this all up just like everything else. i don’t think she ever apologized. or if she did i still haven’t forgiven her. because i believe her. she is only one of the few people who i really think care about me, so to hear her say those things just shattered any confidence and self esteem i had. i waited in the car for her, trying to cut my wrists with a pocket knife i had. haha so stupid. it’s really hard to cut that deep on wrists, especially with a shitty, cheap pocket knife. i barely even have any scars on my wrists, really hard to see thankfully. and i don’t really want to kill my self most of the time. or if i do, it’s only partly so. i have too many reasons not to. but i was still cutting myself back around that time, so when we got home i cut up my upper legs pretty bad. i never cut often, but when i did, i did a lot of deep cuts. i will never be able to wear shorts again because of it, so effing stupid of me. i seriously thought it was a viable coping method. i cut too deep though, and left scars that don’t cover even with makeup. they’re hypotrophic, so they’re like little dents in my skin. it made it feel better though, like if i could see the blood, my mind was soothed. like there, that’s why you hurt so much. a concrete, real reason. a sign of healing i could actually see, and say hey, it’s going to get better eventually. doesn’t make sense to anyone sane though. i still love my mom, whatever she says. she’s usually there for me. she just wasn’t that one time, and it really hurt me. sucks for her, because she can never say anything that will make me believe she doesn’t just think bad things of me deep down. whenever she says she’s proud of me, i want to scoff. it all just sucks. my mind and memory hates me.