Feel so good, feel so numb. Feel so bad….

I frequently seem to be having emotional changes. Some days I have some feeling. Lately, especially, I’ve been having these moments where I feel almost…normal. Then a day later, I am so numb that I can’t be touched by anything. It’s hard to deal with, to say the least. I’m used to constant changes in mood (i.e. from irritated to alright, to downright pissed), but not in the numbness itself. It is always there, clouding over what little feeling does make it in its struggle to the surface.

There are days where I am so numb I have no opinion of anything. You could ask me if I give a flying fuck about anying, and I’d just say, “I don’t care”. It makes indecisiveness look like a downright blessing. How can you form and opinion when you don’t care? It’s a weird question, and to any normal person, I’m sure they are saying right now, “You ALWAYS have an opinion”. No, actually, you don’t. When you just don’t care, nothing comes out of it. You can sort out both sides, give one more pros or cons than the other, but in the end you make no choice. Something in your brain dictates the words, “It’s all the same anyway…. What the fuck does any of it matter?”.

I have those days where my beliefs mean nothing, then other days where beliefs are everything. I’m hanging by a thread everyday, and no one even sees it. I’ve told my mom a hundred times that I don’t have any emotion…she just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get much of anything, really. She has her interests, and her stupid ideas, and that’s it. She doesn’t even want to hear anything else outside of her little foundation, because she knows that hearing something else might change her mind. And my dad…I don’t even care anymore. He is all calm now that he has a job, whereas before he was constantly yelling and throwing his little five year old tantrums. It’s hard to think back to a year ago, it seems so fucking far away. Have I really made it, again? Am I still here after all of this? I don’t even have it bad, yet why does it feel like I am fighting every damn day tooth and nail, unrelenting?

I’m so tired. So fucking tired. Life hasn’t even started yet and I’m already exhausted and utterly worthless. I don’t blame my parents; I know they want the best, so I won’t allow myself to resent them, no matter what. But I resent myself more than anything. I want so much to be free, but I’m too weak to do it. I feel like I’ll never be ready, because I never even cared in the first place.

My mom set up an appointment for my driving test. It’s the 29th of this month. I would have liked to have scheduled it sooner, but unfortunately there were no other days available. If I can pass that, I’ll be halfway there. Halfway. God, how I fucking need halfway.

I hate myself for being a quiter, for giving up on college when it should have been so damn easy. Who quits when they don’t work, don’t have to pay, AND they are only taking two classes at a time? Me apparently. I just want to laugh at how stupid it sounds. But I’m so worn I don’t know what else could have been done. Money, that is the only way I’m going to b e able to free myself from this nightmare. And I already threw away my one chance at making good money. Now I’m going to have to try doubly as hard to get any sort of job that will pay over minimum wage. I’m going to have to start out lowest of the low, then work my way up. Quite frankly, I don’t have the stomach for any of it at this point. I just want to die and be done with this place for good, never have to think again, never have to remember how much pain it has been to just…exist.

I’ve been having dreams lately. They had left me for a long time. Now they’re full of things I hate, filled with randomness, and altogether torturous. It makes me not want to sleep at times. I haven’t been pulling myself out of my dreams lately; I don’t know what is going on. I can usually tell the difference, yet for some reason, I just allow the torture to commence. It goes on and on and on, and I don’t care. Let whatever happens happen. It doesn’t affect me, it doesn’t change me. I have stopped existing on an emotional level anyway. I’m not even lonely.

I think of people and it makes me sick. My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat. I don’t know how I plan to get through a job, when I am always going to have to interact with others. That was the whole reason I left college, that and the fact that it was total bullshit, and disgusted me to the point of deeply considering suicide. And that will never go away, I don’t think. All I can hope for now is brief instances of numbness with fewer thoughts of death. I read all day so that I don’t think about it.

Is this how it’s always going to be, every goddamned day, every fucking year? On and on and on? Because you know what, none of it is even close to worth it! It’s a fucking disgrace, this place! And I’m still here, and the only thing I can come up with is the same thing that my brain seems to repeat to me….

I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t FUCKING care.

Rising above cowardice and fear.

I finally did it. I don’t know how, or why, but something rose inside of me. Self hate, perhaps? It was so overwhelming today I felt like that alone would kill me. Hell, just read the post before this one. I think writing it down as one of the reasons I felt so compelled for the first time in a long time, not to just stand around and let things go in a direction I don’t want to accept. It’s strange, because I feel nothing now that would have been expected from anyone else, not elation, not happiness, only relief, and a slight dread that I know will grow in the coming weeks when I have to stand by my decision.

It’s a fool’s choice, I know and accept that. But bowing down like a servile dog is so much worse, being a coward, being afraid of the unknown. What does it matter anyway, I wonder? Why should I be afraid of the future when I wasn’t even planning on having one? I’m going to try. I have to try. I’ll accept no less of myself.

I scoffed in the face of an “opportunity of a lifetime”. A college education that would more or less guarantee a good job, and better pay. I’m a moron, but who gives a shit, this is what I want. I asked myself, and this was the answer. I’m an adult, and I need to go my own way now, even if it scares me. This is the only chance I have, and I have to try. I’m so fucking tired of standing around and silently protesting—it’s over. Done. I can hate life and existence all I want, but the only way I have any way of improving things is by doing something about it. I’ve never been a follower, which is why I’m so infuriated at myself for not doing this sooner. I could already be well on my way to something…but this is no time to reminisce about what I could have done. I have now, at least, and I plan to throw myself into it to see what happens. I may turn out better, likely worse, but either way, at least this way I will not be an utter and complete failure.

Cowardice…it is something I loathe. The reason I did not do this sooner, admittedly is due to my parents. I was scared to death of facing them. My father…he does not deal with this sort of thing well. And his initial reaction, was, as expected, hostile. More or less him telling me, “hey I don’t control your life” in a sarcastic tone, and going on to state what I was wasting. Then he changed suddenly and got into a speech about family and how we “stick together” and so on and so forth—with a bit thrown in about how if ten years down the road I regret not going to college it’s all my fault and he’s not going to help me (I have to ask, why would I EVER ask him to?). It’s mixed; to be expected. It went over better than I thought, however.

I decided to do it in a letter, then face the wrath. My father has the tendency to interrupt and not let me finish, so not only do I get cut off, I lose my train of thought and can’t get my points across, which is exactly why I decided a letter would suit my purpose well. I made him read it through before talking with me.

My mother came into my room just as I was finishing what I was writing. She took it well. Of course this is after me telling her the same fucking thing about ten times previously and her saying, “I don’t want to talk about it” and getting into the entire blame-game mode, where she says “We were supposed to have a nice day without arguing” as though I ruined the day by voicing my discontent with my situation. Tell me, mom, is there any time I can talk about a problem I’m having, because it seems like each time I say something I get, “I don’t want to talk about it” from you. So you can see in a way why this took so damn long in coming out—there were quite a few reasons.

It’s over now. I don’t know what’s going to happen, for the first time in my life. There is no certainty in my future besides the fact that I will try. I don’t even know why I care. Honestly, I think I might have done it just to prove that I could, that I will try to do what everyone else so easily accomplishes. Prove that I am not weak nor worthless. As my father said “You’ve always been stubborn and independent. You’ll do what you want no matter what I say.” Once I give this a shot, that’s it. If this doesn’t work, nothing will. I don’t know what else I can do for myself at this point. I won’t be happy, I know that, but maybe it will be enough to keep me breathing a few more years. I have to get my license first of course, which will be fucking perfect…ahh, but hey, better than math homework and bullshit psychology classes I don’t believe in!

I’m taking a leap of faith. Faith in myself, which is in short supply these days.

The thoughts of the wicked.

My masochistic tendencies seem to be at an all-time high. It’s a bizarre feeling, especially for someone who doesn’t like to think of themselves as “weak”. I used to associate masochism with weakness, with neediness, and a collection of other words that I strive to avoid. But time has taught me that there is another side to masochism, and that is endurance. Endurance is strength, perseverance. Not so weak sounding, is it?

I’ve always off-handedly called myself a sadist and at times a masochist, but it is only now that I see how they are completely integrated into my being. I live my life to both please and hurt myself. I take pleasure in the hurt, both from the standpoint of the sadist inflicing it, as well as the masochist who endures it.

People always talk about sadism and masochism from a sexual point of view, but to me, it’s beyond that: it’s life. There are people who can learn to ignore their instincts for the most part and there are others in which it is so strong that there is no avoiding it; it must be faced daily.

I have to repeatedly ask myself what I’m doing. ‘Why?’ is the biggest question. I hate myself for everything, for being. And there are times when I can feed on that, use it, implement it. That is where I find power. It’s the sadist that laughs, getting the masochist angry, pushing and pushing and pushing. Little flash here, little flash there…remember yourself at your most horrible…remember all the things you’ve said and done wrong. Now use it.

I know now that I can turn off nearly anything, all feeling, all connection…. But I can’t turn off my self hate. It’s both damaging, as well as a cheap ploy by my unconscious to keep me breathing just a little longer…. Fuck, if I could only explain how much I hate it…. It’s pain, a pain I don’t want. I hate it for keeping me alive. I hate that I can’t just finish myself off. What the hell am I waiting for? What is so grand that I have to feel like I should be here?

Some days I eat once, and barely at all. I get off on it in a lot of ways. It’s a new way to show dominance, mastery…. It’s my fucked up little way of saying to the world that I don’t care. I can starve to fucking death and I won’t give a shit. I am always hungry, yet for some reason it doesn’t bother me…. You can put plates of food in front of me and I don’t care; I don’t want it. It’s not even about losing weight half the time, it’s about proving my own worth to myself.

College is very close. Another year of boring classes and feeling like a human tick. I just want everything to end, I don’t care if I come out of it dead or alive.

I should have been named liar
But then again I was never meant to be
I should have been
That little lump of tissue, nothing but…
An abortion thrown away in a garbage can

It’s 2:19 am. I don’t know if I’m making sense or allowing my lunacy some free reign. My head hurts.

Impending doom.

This is a very meaningless entry; I’m talking for the sake of talking. Don’t expect anything intellectually stimulating.

I’m not looking forward to returning to school. Not even a little. I’m taking another psychology class, this time one about psychos, serial killers, and stalkers. Then I’m taking an online math course, which…will be interesting to say the least. That’s all. I had thought about taking three classes just so I can start building up my credits, but with the math class I’m wondering how much work it’s going to be. Let’s just say math is not one of my strengths…. I’m one of those foolish people who only improves upon skills that come easily to me. Generally things that are difficult for me are subjects that require a lot of concentration. Concentration that I…don’t really have. Ha. I have a short attention span, especially when it comes to subjects that don’t automatically interest me. And, well, I just have a short attention span period. Like I’ve said before, ferret on crystal meth. My mind is always in a million directions at once, constantly going off into different tangents. I have to be occupied all the time, or I tend to get very bored quite quickly, which is the main reason I despise college. Professors lecture and lecture, go on and on, when I was already bored out of my mind a minute after class started.

I had to go shopping for school clothes a few days ago. I own two pairs of pants that I wear out. I’ve had them for…about 2 years, I think. Needless to say, they were becoming rather ragged. I think they started out black, but recently they looked…very…grey. Not really much black to speak of. I’m particularly picky about pants—I can’t really explain it actually. I have a big ass no matter how much weight I lose, so it’s often a battle to find something that fits in all the right places. What happens is that they seem to design pants for people with tiny waists and no ass, so I end up trying on pants that: 1. won’t close at all, even though they are the correct size, or 2. I go up to a bigger size and then I’m swimming in excess material around my hips, with a waist that just fits. I don’t really understand why the waist size stays relatively the same yet everything else gets bigger…doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense.

I bought new shoes as well since my old ones have holes in them now…. I love my old shoes, but I’ve really worn them out by using them for my jaunts in the woods. They’ve gotten ripped open by all the sticks all over the place and all the rocks that I trip over, I guess. Anyway, I think my feet have grown. I used to be about a 9-10 in women’s and an 8 in men’s. I tried on some 10s in the women’s shoe department and could barely get them on, let alone actually wear them comfortably. So I went over the men’s show department and started trying things on…8s, obviously didn’t fit. I had to go for the 9 1/2 to 10s. I honestly have no idea how I’ll ever buy any feminine/dressy shoes ever again. I used to have trouble enough before, and now it’s damn near impossible to find anything that would work…haha. So I suppose I’ll be sticking with my psychotic boots and tennis shoes. I feel like Cinderella’s evil step sisters.

I found a corset I liked when I went into a specialty store. I nearly bought it. It fit quite nicely, but I didn’t like the fact that it was so short; I felt exposed or something. It wasn’t all that expensive either, but I decided that I need to stop going spending crazy (or at least to me what seems crazy), and only buy things when I absolutely love them. Besides, like I said, I had to buy pants anyway.

I did get pants. I also went t-shirt crazy at one of the stores we went to. They were having some sort of back to school sale, and as a consequence had a lot of stuff to choose from. I ended up buying yet another black t-shirt with skulls on it. I think that’s probably the millionth one. Everyone knows about my strange skull obsession, and naturally it extends beyond simply taking pictures of them; I like to wear them on my shirts.

Yeah, I know. Totally boring meaningless bullshit. But hey, I was bored.

Waiting.

My whole life I’ve always been constantly waiting, never doing. I waited to finish grade school, I waited to finish junior high, all so I could get to highschool. When I finished that it wasn’t near over; now I wait to finish college, then move on to a job, and whatever comes after that. We are only given so many years, yet each of us wastes them, loses them without even a slight fight. I wonder how that feels to people who enjoy their lives. Do they regret never doing what they want, or are they stupid and accept their fate? Maybe to them it is all part of the journey…to me it is just another reminder that this life was not for me.

Some people enjoy schooling because they get to be with their friends. Perhaps that is what it is, I don’t enjoy the journey because I don’t enjoy the people. Every single day is like a war, and for some reason I’ve been on a winning streak. You’ll know when I lose, because I’ll be dead. I’ll have waved the white flag of surrender and drenched it in red. Then I’ll crumple and fall. The earth will take what’s left, the ground will satiate its thirst. At least then I will do some good, serve purpose: feed what is still living.

I’m frustrated more than anything, angry that I can stomach up the drive to do what needs to be done. I wait for the feeling to rise in my chest, that familiar ache, that lets me know I’ve tortured myself too far by suffering through life. I want just a shred of feeling. Anything. Give me pain, give me agony, give me rage, sorrow, happiness, hate, just anything. Kill the nothing. Murder it. Rip it out and eat it. Make it feel what I feel.

I want my beliefs back. I’m tired of waiting, of living life as others tell me. I don’t want to waste another 3 years of my life doing something that I hate. Getting up on school days and hoping that we’ll crash on the way there so that I won’t have to go, or so that I’ll just fucking die and not have to worry about getting the drive to do it myself. 

Fuck it, I’m going to go ride my quad for a few hours and stop droning on about how much I hate my life. I’m sick of my own bitching. There better be gas.

Oddities and contradictions.

It was sort of a strange day for me. A lot of weird people were running about, very fun to stare at. Usually I’m the one getting stared at, but today I was in the mood to return the favor.

The day started off alright, though I was a bit groggy. As I was making my way up the steps I pass this guy wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt, and sort of stop for a second to just…well…stare. I really didn’t know it was possible to smoke a cigarette and wear a D.A.R.E. shirt at the same time. I seem to remember our D.A.R.E. instructor in the fifth grade telling us what a danger smoking is. Hmm. Maybe he missed that class. Not really giving it too much thought, I decided to go up and mill around on the lawn a ways up the path. That’s when I realize that I’m getting looked at funny. I’m stopped on the side of the walkway, and finally take the time to look down. Oh yeah, I wore a suit today. And…my backpack has Invader Zim on it (a cartoon character). Yes, bit of a strange combination…but I hadn’t thought about that during the morning, and even if I had I probably wouldn’t have changed anyway.

Finally I get to my boring class, and naturally carry the entire group as I always do. So there’s this guy. I’ve talked to him a few times, seems nice. Anyway, I knew he was tall…or at least, I thought I did. That is until I go out into the hall and somehow end up walking behind him, only to realize that he’s tall as fuck. I mean extremely tall. It’s only accentuated by the fact the he’s like a beanpole. Very lanky. At 5′ 6″ I damn well must seem like a midget. He’s got to be 6′ 5″ maybe taller. I know, I don’t get out much and there are probably people a lot taller, but my scope of human interaction is quite small, and to me, that equals tall as fuck. I guess I never noticed how tall he is because I always see him while he’s sitting down, and the few times I’ve seen him standing up I wasn’t close enough to really get the full impact of his tallness. Haha. I’m very jealous.

One more item on my list—the very short girls. It seems to be a trend. In fact, in psychology our teacher has us sort ourselves out tallest to shortest, and me, even at my diminutive height (it seems that way to me anyway…) was like the fourth tallest girl (by the way there are only about 5 boys in class out of the 30, so that’s a pretty good stat). I noticed it even before that little experiment, because it seems like when I stand out in the hall I’m towering over everyone. Well the girls, anyway. Most of them seem to run about 5′-5′ 2″. Strange. There are some taller girls though, but for some reason not in the classes I took this quarter.

Yes, a non-depressive entry! I think that may be a first. Too bad I never have anything interesting to talk about; I’m boring myself.      

When nothing goes right, there is no reason for hope.

It seems like no matter what I do, something just has to go terribly wrong. That sounds like something a pessimist would say, but honestly, I’m not joking. Every time I do anything “out of the ordinary” everything goes awry. Hell, when I do normal things my world gets spun around, making me dizzy and hopless.

I’m having a lot of personal problems, a lot of self esteem problems. I can’t seem to get the control I need on my life. Occasionally I’ll have second thoughts on my self-imposed isolation, which hits me with exceptionally low days. But I know there’s no helping it; there’s no one I can trust.

My Godparents want to pay for my next quarter at college, which is putting me under a lot of stress. I already have to pay my parents back, now I’m going to have to pay them too. They all keep saying that I don’t have to pay them back, but I feel like it’s something I have to do. I can’t keep relying on people like this, it’s killing me. I’m trapped in this place, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is where I’ll die.

I have to go see my advisor in a few hours, which I’m not looking forward to at all. I’m going to ask her a bit about getting only an associate’s degree instead of the bachelor’s. I’m going to try and find the number for counciling as well, and maybe schedule an appointment, because I’m honestly on my last limb here and I need to hear another perspective. I need someone to sit in front of me for a half an hour and pretend like they give a fuck. It’ll make me feel a bit better, even if I can’t really tell them anything that’s going to make me “better”.    

Confession..at least partially.

Yesterday my dad left for business and my mom woke me up early to see if I wanted to go out shopping. It started out alright, as I did want to get out for awhile (I had asked her the day before if we could go somewhere), but when I finished my shower and got dressed things took…an unexpected turn. It was a stupid argument, first off. And really, it wasn’t my fault—I did nothing wrong. She yelled at me because I was wearing a pair of boots she doesn’t like. She told me something to the effect of, “I won’t be seen in public with you”. This coming from the person who needs help getting dressed, wears a neckbrace a lot of the time, and has me braid her hair regularly. The person I help my dad take care of. 

I don’t understand her sometimes. Well…that’s not exactly true, how about, sometimes I think she’s stupid. I absolutely understand her. Yeah, not a kind thing to say about one’s mother, but it’s true. She gets ideas in her head about things, all of which conflict with her whole persona of “I’m an accepting mother”. And let’s just get a few things straight here: I wasn’t upset so much about the boots, but the fact that this argument mirrors my entire life. That’s actually what set me off.

I walk away, leaving her to wallow, then come back a few minutes later after having decided how I’m going to deal with the problem. My strong, cool resolve fades quickly into complete rage, and I lose control of the tears I was holding back. All those emotions I thought were gone were back in an instant.

I explain it to her, finally. All those times of me trying to discuss my problems with college with her where she ignored me…well, when I’m crying and screaming, apparently that’s the only time she’ll truly listen. I told her that my entire life has been decisions made by her and Dad. College…I never wanted it. Every little thing…. Hell, I think the only choice I made was to go on homeschool. I told her that I feel like a burden to the family, and I feel worthless because I’m taking so few classes. And finally she listened. She told me that the whole thing was up to me at this point…. The timing couldn’t have been worse. I’m already nearly done with a year of college, it’s too late to stop now. My dad would never let me drop out anyway. You see what I mean? It’s all a trap, there’s no escaping. It doesn’t matter if she says I can do what I want because the honest truth is that I can’t. It’s too late. It’s always too late.

Then she went into this whole spill about how she knows I’m unhappy (what else is new) and I should do what makes me happy (only, guess what? I CAN’T). She starts saying she knows because I’ve been locking my door more and fighting with her more and so on and so forth. She assumes all of these things. Want to know why I lock my door? So I can have FIVE FUCKING MINUTES OF PEACE. She constantly comes into my room especially at night (which is when I write and don’t want to be disturbed even if there’s a fire or an axe murderer), and it’s godamned irritating. It actually has nothing to do with my current moods. She doesn’t know that I’m this suicidal mess that has no outlet, she just thinks I’m unhappy or depressed or something. And why do I fight? Because I’m pissed, because my moods are so off the wall I never know what to expect. And she’s with me ALL DAY long. What the hell does she think is going to happen? She thinks she knows me, but the truth is that I’m so much worse off than she assumes. And I think, deep down, I don’t want her to know and start pitying me.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually have a bad relationship with my mom the in mother/daughter way. We have always had conflicting personalities and beliefs, which is what causes most of the problems, but we generally just try to accept each other and our differences. And I have to say, she’s the only person that has been there for me sometimes when the anxiety gets bad, during those times where it was hard for me to walk out the front door or buy something in a store because of my social problems. But at the same time, she heavily overrestimates her “acceptance” factor. She’s not half as open-minded as she thinks she is, which is what gets me angry. She’s the type of person that wants no conflict, and instead allows it to build and fester until finally the flies mature and there’s no where to go but out. That’s why it is so difficult to talk to her about certain things, because she has her stance and she doesn’t want to listen to any argument because it might cause conflict. In the end it just makes her look ignorant.

When we finished talking she told me I should just wear the boots. Ha. We went shopping, bought some crap, went all over town….blah blah blah. We stopped at the bookstore, and like it always does, some force decided I needed a talking to. I opened a book on religion, flipped to the ’s’ section (gee…I wonder what I was looking up) to find a quote that said something like do what you want, what pleases you, even if it means wearing those spiked boots. It also mentioned doing a few other things, but it was the boot part that got me. I just laughed.

Nothing works out as you hope.

I feel exhausted even though I’ve done nothing of strain today. Each day seems like a brand new battle, and to be honest, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to go on with all of this. My desires are stronger than ever. I try to decide how I’ll do it. Where. Who would find me. It’s never been this bad before. I guess I fooled myself into believing I was over it, that I could always hold my head above water no matter what. All I want now is to sink and get lost in the dark, cold water. I want to see nothing, and I want the few emotions I can feel anymore to just fade away.

I have no time alone at this point either, which only seems to bring about mood swings that I don’t want to deal with. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a house that is all quiet. I understand now why it’s the solitude I crave and also why I feel so terrible when I don’t have it. It’s a bit like a regular person when you think about it. If some social butterfly was locked away from human contact for a few years they would wind up pretty fucked up too. So I’m just the opposite: the more human contact, the deeper I crawl into myself to get away. Unfortunately with my problem there is little chance I’ll get what I want. People are everywhere. No matter how far I walk into the woods I can still find people, still be bothered to give directions or to talk with some stranger who wants to know what a girl is doing out in the woods. People pry, they ask stupid questions. They have to look at you with those eyes of theirs and examine you, probe you with their mediocre and below-average intellect, all the while pretending to be oh so much better. So much more worth time and effort. And yeah, maybe I’m not worth it. Maybe realists aren’t worth saving sometimes, not when they are so far gone as I seem to be. I’m not striving to be a social ideal, I’m not striving to have a fulfilling life, so I must not be worth anything at all. Of course no one ever stops to think that perhaps not all of us find heaven in petty relationships and white collar jobs. Maybe not all of us are willling to walk around pretending to be above average, when we know better. Or maybe the world has just succeeded in making me bitter.

I’m taking normal classes at college now, lecture rooms and all. My two teachers are pretty decent, my psychology teacher especially. I’ve been emailing her my questions, which instead of brushing off like a lot of my teachers have, she actually takes the time to try and give me the answers I’m searching for, even if she has to type an entire page. I think I’d forgotten that there are people out there who acutally care. What a realist I am…I’m bordering on nihlism and pessimism at this point. I’ve also found out that with the degree I was getting, the bachelor’s degree, I can’t do any counciling. Would have been more pleasantly accepted if my advisor had taken the time to explain that part. Basically a bachelor’s degree in psychology will just serve as an achievment to wave in an employer’s face and hope for the best. In order to do any sort of counciling, even the less formal kind, you have to have a master’s degree and be specialized in some particular branch of psychology. I’ll never be able to get a master’s degree. First I’m not going to be able to survive all the statistic classes and other numerous math classes, secondly I don’t know if I could mentally handle another 3 years of school (it’s supposed to take 2 more in addition to the 4 of the bachelor’s degree, but I take too few classes to go at that pace), and third, my parents could never afford that. They can barely afford it now even though I’m in a community college. So any ideas about doing anything more hands on is out the window at this point. I would have to get a job and then try to juggle school at the same time, but with my lack of enthusiasm for school already I’m all too aware that it would probably just succeed in making me follow my more dark urges. I’m not going to push my already slim luck by furthering my boredom and hatred for being alive and breathing, and giving myself more reason to not want to exist.

I need help, I can see that now. But like always I’m unwilling to reach out for it. Besides, if anyone said point blank, “I want to help you”, I’d tell them to leave me the hell alone. No one would ever try anyway. It’s been let’s see…6 years of depression and not once, in all of that time, has anyone ever realized just how bad off I am inside. It makes me want to hate them for all those times where I did want help but was never given any. Those times my dad laughed at me for crying, or how my mom always thinks that she can tell when I don’t feel well. What if I feel bad all of the time, Mom? What if I can’t cry anymore, Dad? And my friends who thought they knew so much about life, or that they actually knew who I was…. Such a waste. All of it has been such a waste. All that time I spent trying to make everyone happy was for nothing. I’ve stopped talking to every last friend. But I know it doesn’t matter now. I don’t want medication, I don’t want to sit in a chair and let some moron try to dissect me. It’s over. That time of neediness and comfort is over. I’ll never again go back to that, no matter how much I want it.

I’m meant to be alone; it’s my blessing and my curse.

All I ever do is walk the wrong path.

I feel so wrong. Sometimes it’s as though I’m some other person watching this complete idiot live their life. When I stand back and examine myself instead of others for a change, I always have to take about 10 seconds to quell my panic at the thought that this person is truly me. I’m so much stupider than I give myself credit for. I suppose it’s my own fault, really.

Each little pebble, the forbidding mountains to overcome
Every empty smile just one step closer
All those people
Just another damn face for me to create
They say “tell me about yourself”,
So I tell them lies
A phone number I never call, a friendship that has no where to go
These are your customs,
I beg you to leave me to mine
My answer is no to your every question
Just remember that every word I tell you is a lie.