Current Mood:
8:05 a.m. - 09/17/2010
falling deeper and deeper
Im a basketcase. And I'm very concerned about my mentl health. ALl I want to do is sleep. I literally have to use all of my might to force myself up into a normal routine. And the only reason I'm doing it is because I don't want anyone else to notice how depressed I actually am. if Kate and vicky knew anything about depression, then they would probably notice. I haven't hung out with them in a few weeks, using the excuse of being sick or too tired. But we all know that if I really wanted to have "fun" with my friedns I would do it no matter how sick or tired I was. It's Friday and I'm horrified at the possibility of having to force myself to go out with them tonight. I signed up for an early volunteer event on Saturday, and i think I did that so I would have an excuse to not go out and have fun. I never sign up for Saturday morning events, but something told me to.
I've been reading "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath, and it's very disturbing to see the similarities between me and Esther Greenwood. Smart, tries to excel at everything she does. So many interests that she can't see a clear future for herself, thinks its unfair that men can slee ith whoever they want and women can't. Her breakdown has so many similarities to my own current break down that it's scary. I hope it doesn't come to a true suicide attempt. But I've been thinking about it lately.
Last night my mother was whining and crying because one of the cats was possibly injured and I went off on her. I got so angry at her and called her stupid for crying. The main reeason for this is that it made me angry because she's one of the main reasons why I can't bring myself to put myself out of my misery and kill myself. I have to go on suffering because if i died it would tear her apart. Completely apart. Or even if something serious happened to me, like an attempt that I survive. She's not strong enough to deal wiht loss. I think that she might have some sor of menal disorder too, because tis not normal to get that upset over things.
I still haven't cut myself, but the temptation is there. I think the fact that I'm resisting so much makes it even more desireable, because in my mind I'm holding out on the most wonderful feeling in the world. I have fantasies about how great the blade would feel slicing into my skin. I long for it like a recovering drug addict might long for cocaine. I have dreams about it. But it can't feel as great as I'm imagining. How could cutting into your sking with a sharp blade feel good? it's painful. It's meant to be painful. it's not something that should happen on purpose.
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