November 3rd, 2002

I'm not well. I'm just not well. (ha) I...I'm just bad. I really don't know if I'll make it. I've been saying that for a year now...but this is the worst year of my life. I'm fighting...I'm always fighting...and I feel like I never get any where. I'm scared.

I'll admit it.

I'm scared.

September 26th, 2002

Hmmmmm....where to start. My birthday is in just a few days. I'm not sure how I feel about that. This time last year I was desperatly alone and depressed, and VERY suicidal. Now...one year later...it's much of the same. And that's very sad to me.

I HATE birthdays. No matter how much fun I have, all I can think of is that it's only marking another year in my life. Another year I've been here.

You know...I don't even want to say that. It's what I'm thinking, but I don't really want to say it, because I worry people thnk this page is all about me feeling sorry for myself. But you know what? This is my outlet damnit!!!! I'm not forcing you to be here...you're here because you want to be.

I don't know why I'm angry with you...who I don't even know. I just have so much stuff going on right now...my emotions get kind of muddled.

Last Saturday was my one year anniversary. My boyfriend and I have been broken up for one year. And you know what? It was okay. I was okay. I think my meds have begun to kick in. I've been rather stable in the last week and a half. Unusually stable.

But it's the calm before the storm. I can feel it. Last night I was so very, very anxious, nervous, scared, and panicky. It's how I get before a MASSIVE low knocks me over. It's how I feel when I know it's coming, but I don't want it to...and I think if I ignore it...it won't happen.

But it always does.

And I'm VERY worried about this weekend. Three days alone...my birthday...no one around.

Last year I spent my birthday, on my living room floor, crying, and cutting myself up.

I don't want this year to be the same. And I'm scared.

I'm scared.

But wish me luck...and HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I'm the big 2-3! = )

Hey, I'll try to keep you updated on how I'm doing. Maybe the meds are doing more than I know. I'll try to be okay.

August 25, 2002

They walk away.
They always walk away.
I don't care how much they promise upfront...how they swear they are going to teach you how people don't walk away, but they do.

I guess there is only so much of me you can take.

I am annoying, I am depressing, I am sad, I am a downer.

I am scared, I am alone, I am lonely, I am awful.

I make people feel bad, just being around me.

And all I really want, is to not be this person, only I don't know how.

I am not doing well. I am not well at all. I saw the doctor just over a month ago. He prescribed me effexor. It ISN'T working. I've never felt worse. I'm still always depressed, and very suicidal.

I see him again in 2 days, I hope he just gives me what works. Prozac and Lithium did wonders...but he wanted to try something new.

I've also started with a new therapist. She seemed nice, but because of $$$$, I'll only see her about once a month. She told me to think about what I wanted to work on, for our next visit. She asked me to think about whether I was there to stop cutting, or to work on other issues.

My first reaction was 'Stop Cutting! Are you crazy?!' I didn't relay this reaction out loud. And it was in the shower this morning (3 weeks later) I realized...I can't imagine stopping.

It's not because I don't want to...it's because I just feel so SHITTY on a daily basis, that I can't imagine living without it. And maybe if I didn't feel shitty...it wouldn't be an issue. In fact, I'm sure if I didn't need it to make me feel better, it wouldn't be an issue. What I really need, is to work on the shittyness.

You always say "I've never felt worse than I do now." And the funny thing is...that you always do. It always gets worse. You hear "there's no where to go but up." Only that's not always true.

I just had someone try and convince me that “Today is the first day of the rest of my life.” Which all in all, I’m sure is a good point of motivation for some. But for me...I rolled my eyes...and tried to smile and say “you know, you’re right,” just out of politness.

I can say I've never been more suicidal than I am right now...but if you look back about a year, I was saying the same thing.

All I know, is that I'm close to not being able to function, and the very last person I had standing by me, has just told me "it's to stressfull to be in any relationship with you, whether it's friendship - or more." ...and “I’m finally stable...and in control, and when you’re down, I can’t stand it...it brings me down, which is not where I need to be.”

We were best friends, and then lovers....we were dating up until about 4 days ago...but still friends. I’ve never needed anyone more in my life right now...but he’s gone...I expected it. And I’m trying to acept it.

So now it's just me.

I mean, it's always been - just me - I don't let anyone in. It's how I stay strong.

Unfortunatly, it's what makes people walk away. I don't blame them...there's only so long you can work at a person...loving them, pleading with them to open up...only to have it thrown in your face.

I am a horrible human being.

I really am.

And all I think about is how the metal will feel against my temple...and whether or not my ear drums will pop. After all, a gun shot right next to your ear has got to be loud. But hopefully death will come too quickly, and there won’t be much pain.

I also have to wonder if your life really flashes before your eyes, in that split second before you die. And what happens after...I’m hoping nothing...there is nothing. I need there to be just nothing...no heaven, no hell, just boom....done.

I want there to be nothing....

I’m tired.

I am very tired.

I have a gun picked out...= ) Just not purchased just yet...but I have a license...I’m just 72 hours away...If I go tomorrow...I could be gone by thursday. I think for the first time in my life...I’ve ALMOST made my decision.

I tried to get help...it didn’t work.

I’m still sad, and now I’m tired of being sad.

I’ve moved from cutting to burning. It’s a lot less messy, the scars heal better...though they still take forever! And it hurts a lot more. It’s also easier...I don’t have to worry about sanitizing razors, or cleaning cuts....I just plug in my curling iron. I let it heat up for at least 20 minutes...so it’s burning hot. Then I tap it against my skin a couple of times. It’s not bad...at least the first couple of times I did it, it wasn’t bad. But last Wednesday, I may have tapped it too many times...it was fine that day, and the next...didn’t hurt...just looked burned...and bubbled...but then my skin just slid off.....it was really gross. The burn hadn’t healed...it wasn’t like a bad sunburn - where the skin peals off....it was still healing...and pink and raw - with clear liquid goo...and the skin litteraly it just slid off. It was the grossest feeling ever. Luckily it wasn’t a big burn...so I have it bandaged with neosporene on it.

But point blank...I’m not well. I don’t know what else to say. God Forbidd I depress anyone else...I’m sure I have though...but I’m sorry, it was not my intention. Afterall, I’ve already done that. Anyways...in the end I’m sure I’ll be fine...I always am...right?

June 13, 2002

I had my appointment today.

I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Just kind of ill.

I couldn't say anything I needed to, or wanted to. I tried my hardest not to cry, not to be scared, but the tears came anyways. And I didn't even know the woman, I didn't want her to see me cry, and I know this all sounds so stupid. But I felt stupid.

She asked me questions I couldn't bear to answer. I had to fill out this questionare about how I felt. I filled in all the little 'always' boxes to answer questions about how often I was sad, or depressed, or suicidal, or panicky. That was about as open as I could be. Filling in little boxes, hoping those black marks paint the picture of my desperation.

She asked me about my family, and how close we were. I told her I spoke with them occasionally, but we don't talk about the things that really matter. I've been told never to speak about my 'little' problem. She said that explained how I could sit there and cry, and talk about suicide, while smiling my head off and laughing. She told me I had to continue to pretend everything was fine, even as I'm sitting there admitting I need help. But that's what I do when I'm nervous or upset...I laugh. I can be bawling, and I laugh. It's not real laughter. She asked me why I do it and I told her because I have to. It's the only way I'll make it through.

Then she asked me how I would do it, kill myself. And of course I know how, but I could never say it out loud. Sure, I could write about it here. But I could never say it out loud. I told her I didn't know, I had no plan, and she called my bluff. I told her about the time when I was 13, and swallowed a bunch of pills. Not realizing that if you're going to kill yourself, you actually have to know what you're doing. You can't just swallow a bunch of pills all at once, you'll just throw them up. You have to know what you're doing.

She asked me why I finally decided to get help. And I all could muster up...all I could manage to say without completly breaking down...is that everything is just wrong. And that's it in a nutshell. Everything in my life just feels wrong right now. There is no right.

What I really wanted to say, though, what I really wanted to tell her, was that about a month ago I woke up on a beautiful Saturday morning, and I wanted to die. And I thought to myself, wow I've been wishing I weren't here for 10 years now. And the thought suddenly occured to me, that in another 10 years, it will have been 20. 20 years spent praying to be anything else, anywhere else, or nowhere at all. And that seemed very sad to me.

It's do or die.

Literally.

And so I guess I'm doing. But even doing seems very wrong right now. And I'm not doing it very well.

And mostly I'm just scared.

She told me I didn't have to feel this way anymore. And I wanted to tell her I didn't know how else to feel. I don't know anything but this. And that's sad too.

June 7, 2002

THUD! And there it is folks, rock bottom. I knew it was coming soon. I've known it for months. I could feel it coming in every fiber in my body. I've been here before. I knew something was going to happen in my life, which was already spiraling out of control, to wake me up. I was going to get so dark and desperate, that I would probably explode, and then, I'd be ready to get better again. This is how it happens, see.

I've been cutting pretty badly again. And feeling pretty badly too, which pretty much goes without saying. I've been in this pseudo relationship/friendship, which has been nothing but bad for me. And it's not his fault, nor is it mine. You stick two mentally unhealthy (very unhealthy) people together, it doesn't turn out well. And finally I couldn't take it anymore. So I wrote him a letter (he called it a novel) about everything I've been feeling - not intending to ever give it to him. And then I went gun shopping.

I applied for a firearm license several months ago, and got it in April. I could be just a 72 hour waiting period away from offing myself. But I never made it into the store. I completly broke down. And when I say break down, I mean one of those honnest to goodness break downs. Everything just disapears, and you just fucking cry, because there's nothing else you can do.

I drove home through the tears, and cut. I cut like I've never cut before. Then I decided to give him the letter I'd written. They were things I definitly needed to say. I've never been so sure of anything in my life.

Of course when he got home and found the letter at his door, he was not happy. It was not an overly harsh letter, but it was not a particularly nice letter. He called me, and we decided it would be best we didn't talk for awhile. Which is probably best, and I fully expected that. But it still hurts. He's my best friend right now, in a bad he treats me like shit kind of way. Honnestly our relationship is so hard to describe or understand. I kept trying to tell myself I should ignore the fact that he treated me like shit, because I needed to be a good friend, and be above that, and understand why he needed to do it. He always told me 'you take it out on the ones you love most.' And for awhile that made it okay...in a weird way. But it can only be okay for so long.

After our conversation, I don't think I've ever been so low. I rarely reach out for help. Especially when I'm down. But I called everyone here I knew. Desperate to talk to someone. I finally called my best friend in Florida, (ignoring the time difference) and just cried to her for an hour - after waking the poor girl up at 3 am. And I made a decision.

I need help.

I will not survive this without it.

I know I need help. This much I know is true. But it's such a scary fucking thing. It's so hard to describe how getting out of such a shitty place can be scary, but it is. I've never been so scared in my entire life.

Today I made an appointment with a counselor. It's next Thursday. And I'm scared. But I know this is what I need to do.

I've done this before. Hit rock bottom, and gotten help. But it's going to be a little different this time, because I have no expectations. Before, I figured if I got help, I'd be cured for life, and just get better. Now I realize, I'll probably go back on meds for a while, and then take myself off, and go back through the whole thing again. Maybe. But it's okay. I don't need to go into this things, saying I need to get better right now, and forever.

It's kind of weird. Kind of like a drug addict or an alcoholic. They say you always fall back into it several times, before you can kick the habbit. I think it's the same with depression. It's a place in my life I know...and that's hard to just forget.

I'm doing this completly alone this time. Which kind of makes it even scarier. I don't have anyone right now. Except Annabelle, my cat. = ) LOL

But I know I need this. And this time I need to do more than just a monthly meeting with a doc, and meds. There are a lot of demons in my past I need to deal with. I will never get any better until I deal with my past. It's something I've shoved further and further away, thinking if I just kept shoving, it would fall off the face of the Earth. But now I think maybe I actually need to work in therapy.

There, I used the word. Therapy.

I don't know why I hate that word so much. Or why for the first time in my life, I am, fully and completly ashamed of needing help.

It's funny, I tell so many people to look into getting help. That getting help is okay. And I never had any problem with it until now.

But I think I've rambled for long enough tonight.

This isn't one of those moments of clarity, where everything seems like it's going to be okay. This is actually really scary. Which is maybe good. Maybe that means I'm due for real change. I should be scared. But right now...I think I'm okay. I forgot for a long time, that you need to take it one minute at a time. Looking at it in hours, days, weeks, or months is just too much to take at once.

Right now, in this minute, I'm okay. And I'll be okay in the next minute too...and eventually those minutes will lead to help...

I'm trying...that's all I want you to know.

I can do this.

June 4, 2002

I do not have good news to report. I guess I haven't had good news for sometime. Two weeks ago I began cutting again. It had been 8 months. I found myself not knowing what else to do, where else to turn, and I was so angry and frustrated I just did what I knew would make me feel better. I have not been feeling well lately. I've had a series of lows that just keep getting lower. I was telling a friend the other day, it's as bad now, as when I went into the hospital at 16. That was 6 years ago. And actually I think this is worse.

Two weekends ago I began cutting again. I was in a low that didn't break for days. I had been crying for nearly two days straight, and I was sitting on my bathroom counter with a razor, dragging it against my legs. I reached up to wipe my eye, and smeared blood on my face. And when I looked in the mirror I was apalled. For the first time EVER I realized this is not normal. I looked at myself, with my tear streaked face, my swollen puffy eyes, red blood smeared across my cheek, razor in hand, a river running down my leg, and pooling on the counter, and suddenly I was disgusted by myself. I was very scared, and very alone.

I've always prided myself on not needing anyone else in my life. I've always thought: It's every man for himself - FUCK everyone else. And so, I've always had at least myself. But at that moment...on that day...I didn't even have me. And that really scared me.

I've started cutting pretty regularly now. I began carrying razors with me. Sometimes I cut in the bathroom at work, when I just can't take people anymore.

I hope you all are doing better than I.

May 16, 2002

I used to do this thing when I was little, to ease my fears. I would lie alone in bed at night, and I would be scared of the dark. So I would screw my eyes shut as tightly as I possibly could, because I told myself that if I couldn't see the monsters, then they couldn't see me either.
And now here I am with my eyes shut so tightly it makes my head hurt. But I'm not shutting out the monsters. Mostly I'm hoping, if I shut my eyes tightly enough I won't see the world, and they won't see me either; and maybe if they don't see me, I'll cease to exist.
Oh how I wish I never were.

April 20, 2002

I hurt all over. I just hurt. I hurt physically, emotionally, and mentally. People says it's all in your head, and that's the thing, it really is. Only that doesn't mean I can control it. I don't have a broken bone, or heart, or spirit, I have a broken head. And it's funny to hear people say I seem happier than I've ever been. Because, on any given day I hate myself. On any given day I think I'm more depressed than I've ever been. On any given day I come home planning my death. And on any given day I could go through with it. Just not today.

March 31, 2002

My depression always seems to come to a climax. Actually climax may not be the right word. I think 'climax'insinuates excitment, or even suspense. Neither of which suit depression very well. I guess it would be better to say my depression always has a peak. No that's not right either. Peak insinuates a high, or maybe a good time. I guess what I'm saying is eventually you hit rock bottom. I was trying to come up with some original way to describe it, but I guess I've failed. I settled for the old stand-by 'rock bottom.' Though it may be a cliche, it's true. Isn't that why things become cliches? Because as trite as they might sound, deep inside they hold some nugget of truth.

So rock bottom it is. It's a valley of sadness that sometimes goes on for days, weeks, or even months. And really, 'sadness' doesn't do the feeling justice. There are no words to do the feeling justice. The point I'm talking about is when you just feel so bad, you don't even care to do anything. Sometimes you're depressed, and you kind of just want to cry, or cut, or plan your own death. But when you get to this place - you literally just sit and stare at a wall.

I don't want to cry, I don't want to cut, I don't want to talk to a friend, I don't want a parent, or a roommate, or a brother, or a boyfriend, I don't want to sleep, I don't want to read good book, I don't want to watch a movie, I don't want to see I Love Lucy, (my favorite show, I'm a little obsessed), I dont' want to curl up with my security blanket named 'Stan,' I dont' want to eat yummy goldfish crackers, or carrots and celery, I don't want a ceasar salad, I don't want to hold my kitty, I don't want to smile, I don't want to go out, I don't want to get up, I don't want to work, I don't want to write, I don't want to pretend anymore, and most of all I don't want help. But, this thing is becoming more apparent everyday. People are catching on, I'm not as cheerful as I usually am. You can only hide this to a certain extent.

I hate myself. No, no that's not true. Hate is not the right word. I hate brussel sprouts, I hate when my cat climbs my curtains, I hate the color orange, and sometimes I think I hate my parents. But I don't hate myself. (Boy I can't find any of the 'right' words tonight. I guess I'm losing my touch.) No, I loathe myself. Loathing is more than hate, or dislike. It's a shame that makes you sick inside.

People have asked me what it will take to make me better right now. A quick fix, to get me int he right mindset to get some real help. Unfortunatly, right now, there is absolutly nothing I can think of, that's going to make this better.

I have run from place to place. Setting goals for myself, thinking 'if I just get here, I'll feel better, I'll be happy.' = ) Of course it never works.