Sweat.

I don’t know that if the fact that it is so fucking hot and humid out here makes me even angrier.

If I’m crying or about to… or maybe scream or punch a wall… I just take that damn Depakote like in an instant.

Neutral is all I get… but it’s fucking great compared to my floor and crying.

My fist hurts.

I don’t know where to cut that people won’t see.. > _>” My thigh is damaged enough for now.

So I’m now sitting on my bed with this urge to scream.

I need to drink or something.

Fuck.

Depakote time.


I haven’t done anything to move my ass…

Need to get a job.

Need to start getting a degree on something.

Need a fucking job job job job.

Everyone tells me all the jobs there are available.

I can’t do any… without being scared to death.

I can’t sell items… wtf ? .. I’d say “BUY IT, please… I need some weed.”

The crippling anxiety ? No one around me seems to remember I go nuts because of it ? Like… I’m going to overcome it this time ?

I can answer phones, fold papers, scan shit, write documents…. and some small talk that will probably end up weirding out someone.

Now I need to find a job like that.

But I’m feeling nothing.

Neutral.

Blah, I can stand up and go out or stay here.

Usually I pick stay here.

Unless there are drugs involved.

… Or food.

I’m going to go out now and get some food, probably force a smile or two.

Where the fuck does my energy go to ?

How did I get here ?

Since I can remember it has been 18 years… only 18 years of life.

Now I find myself being 25.

I have nothing planned for the future.

The things I was scared would happen and decided I wouldn’t live to feel them or see them have happened.

I’ve failed University after several attempts.

My social relationships are crap.

My health is pretty crap for someone my age.

I’m addicted to coke, cigarettes and alcohol.

I used to hate myself… now I’ve been present when people tell me what a fucking cunt I am.

The worst aunt… that’s me.

I’m shit with family.

Still fucking depressed after all these years.

People still want me to get “better”, which I don’t even think is possible.

.

I wanted to save myself from seeing what a failure as a human I was.

Instead I watched it all, I lived it all.

.

Now I’m 25 and have no clue of what to do.

No job. No degree. No partner. No money. No talents.

And for some fucking reason I can’t even sleep that much.

Seroquel, wtf bitch.

.

Make it stop.

My status ?

Still on Depakote, today the dose was doubled.

I started crying again but not as often as before.

Have to keep my mind busy with trivial shit so I don’t think.

When I do think… my thoughts drown my mind and I can’t seem to find escape from them.

Thoughts of suicide again, I’m not talking to anyone about it.

I just say I’m sad and that I’m tired of being sad.

That laughing seems so fucking hard and impossible in my face.

I try to smile, be with my family… I just want to fucking cry.

I feel I’m practically not existing.

So… why bother ?

I started to… hang out (??) with a guy I went out (??) with a couple of years ago.

I am reminded once more how much of a bitch I am.

How fucking horrible I am… a friend was with us and she fucking giggles and fucking has self esteem and knows how to be a human ? … how the fuck am I supposed to keep trying ?

I can’t seem to express any positive feelings to him (or anyone) … I am afraid of getting hurt.

Not only would I get hurt… but possibly go backwards of my “progress” with this fucking condition.

So, I ask myself.

If I know I am deep in depression mode… should I try going out with someone ? or would that fuck me up even more ?

Or… Being depressed and going out with someone is just a bad idea… because no one will like a crying little bitch like me ?

Also, If I start seeing someone… When do I have to tell them about my condition ? About my past ? About my hospitalizations… and attempts.

Me: Confused as fuck.

Eh.

It’s been a while.

Time is like a blur. I don’t notice when days pass.

I am taking a higher dose of Depakote.

Mostly I can control my feelings… but if I can get my mind busy thinking on something.

I’ve been pretty fucking emotional.

If I get angry… I get fucking pissed off.

If I get sad… I sob uncontrollably.

If I get happy… well, it’s usually because i’m high.

I think I need a higher dose.

But, I am afraid what it will do to my enthusiasm. (I little to none.)

I lay in bed all day.

Or I do shit. I just don’t care about anything.

I don’t even care about suicide.

Which is good, I guess.

But I wish I cared about something.


I had my appointment today with the psychologist.

We talked about…well, me being a sarcastic cunt.

She actually noticed just today, that maybe I don’t do it on purpose, that I don’t notice.

DUH.

So… Everyone gets told “You have to be yourself !”. I get told that I have to read books about social interactions and not be how I am… because I’m a hostile bitch.

Or raging bitch as I once was called by an ex.

She also said that she thinks the diagnosis of my past psychiatrist about a year ago of Schizoid personality disorder applies to me.


Supposedly I’ll be studying online on University of Phoenix.

Fuck… the United States’ colleges are pricey as fuck.

I’ll probably have loans on top of loans.


In conclusion.

Depakote has controlled my depression.

It has made me, at least, stable.

I am still sad as fuck.

I still find no reason for all this shit.

But I just… don’t think about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I travel back…

Over the time… I’ve made acquaintances on my hospitalizations.

We always say we’ll contact each other, never will.

Must be the fact that everyone exits and in a while receive the shock of reality.

Not that fucked up dazed and confused bubble in which they had us.

I see a photo of a guy I met in my last hospitalization.

He read while I read, he studies psychology, he’s a geek.

I fucking liked him since I saw him.

Anyways… I’m fucking nuts, that’s why I’m there.

So I try to hide my crazy self from him as much as I can.

I don’t know how much he saw.

He left about 5 days before me.

I, being fucking nuts, remember imagining him holding me in bed and taking turns in holding each other.

Fuck that shit.

I’m a psycho, ignore that.

I left the hospital… desperate about contacting him.

We exchanged a few words.

Now every time I see him on Facebook I just think about the time we met, when I still had expectations of the hospitalization to work.

“Maybe this will be the time they fix me.”

And I just cry.

Live Through This – a Project (Link)

Live Through This  <—-

I found this webpage… I don’t remember how.

It has stories of survivors of suicide attempts.

They tell their story about how the became suicidal and what happened after the suicide attempt.

This was great. I saw people that had tried to commit suicide and how the felt afterwards.

The obstacles, the loneliness, the depression, having to hide mental illness.

It made me think that all of this… can be in my past.

Maybe there is a way to… not overcome this… but put it behind and not listening to these thoughts.