My nails look ok.

But I don’t.

It’s been almost a week that I constantly cry.

Sometimes it just gets so out of control that I don’t know what to do.

The Depakote isn’t working like it was a month ago… so they upped my Seroquel.

I don’t like waking up.

Here I am… awake, with nothing to do.

A lot to do, actually.

I started cleaning my room.

Most of it was trowing away useless shit I grew attached to and old clothes.

Didn’t finish cleaning, my room is even messier.

I get like one day of energy per month.

That’s my fucking quota.

I almost don’t even go outside… my windows are rarely open.

Seems I’ll be ending the year as unstable as I started it.

Oh, and of course, my psychiatrist asked me if I wanted to get hospitalized.


Nothing like knowing even my doctors don’t know what the fuck else to drug me with.

But my nails are colored dark blue, and I like them…


The 50 Scariest Books of All Time


Oooh… I’ll be needing this list.

Originally posted on Flavorwire:

The air is getting crisper, the nights are getting longer, and All Hallow’s Eve draws near. You know what that means: it’s time to curl up with a book guaranteed to give you the shivers — or at least make you check the locks twice. Here, for your horrifying pleasure, are 50 of the scariest books ever written in the English language, whether horror, nonfiction, or speculative futures you never want to see. One caveat: the list is limited to one book per author, so Stephen King fans will have to expand their horizons a little bit. Check out 50 books that will keep you up all night after the jump, and add any other scary favorites to the list in the comments.

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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.


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.


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.