everyone must belong somewhere…

I am so ready to slip out quietly, quietly, softer than a candle snuffed by two wet fingertips. Take all those pills and fizzle out, or dig a blade in deep. Really how deep would it have to be? not very. at the thin part, my wrists are little more than an inch thick, and arteries are buried in the middle. I held the knife I used to cut a mango with the tip to the skin over my heart. Juliet. Just held it there – no tremors, surprisingly enough. Then I held it to my neck- not the tip but the long sharp blade. The steel is so cold and so frightening.

Frightening.

I am too afraid. My fear is keeping me alive. Fear does that. It keeps us from going into bear caves and things like that. I hate that what keeps us alive is fear. Fear. In Donnie Darko their health teacher says that every emotion sits on a spectrum between fear and love. Shouldn’t love keep us alive, not fear? Although I suppose it does. Where does misery fall? Closer to fear than love, right? But misery doesn’t keep us alive. None of this makes any sense.

The steel is so cold.

ETA I think I am going out tonight, for a long walk in the dark wetness. The cold rain can only do me good. After my parents go to bed, I’ll go out. Maybe even to that post-post-prom. cold rain and friends…this is probably a good idea. i can sneak back in early, or not. wander home and get yelled at. either way i need out, so it doesn’t matter…

the weirdest thing about doctor’s offices is the composition of those robes they make you wear: paper-plastic-paper.

Today at therapy I cried. I told her about the hospital thing and she said it wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t need to do anything rash, and though she wasn’t recommending it, if that was what I needed, well, it takes five minutes to get admitted to the hospital, and a few days can do so much good. Constant observation means everything happens faster- new meds, etc. You don’t have to be alone and you don’t have to agonize about hurting yourself, because you can’t. There’s still the pain of wanting to, but not the responsibility of guilting yourself into staying alive. And a break, from work and stress and parents and junk food and judgement.

It’s tempting.

For now, though, I am holding out. With a call to the school to keep them from breathing down my neck too much.

But if this keeps up…I’m giving in. Because sometimes I just don’t have the willpower to keep up this stupid war in my head, between the forces of sanity and the armies of my “genetic predisposition to depression.” Sanity knows I shouldn’t cut myself up or kill myself or sit around doing nothing. Depression wants me to do these things. And if it were just one it would be easy. But they’re both in there, duking it out. And they’re both me. And I always think there’s enough of me to go around…but maybe even though this is all happening in the compact space between my ears, I am being spread too thin.

one of those days.

i told my father that i was sick. he got my mother and i told her the truth: “i can’t go to school because i haven’t done my work because i feel like shit all the time and can’t focus.” so she called my therapist who made an emergecy appointment and recommended that i not be left alone, as i told her on the phone that i had been self-injurious and suicidal “only all the time.” so my father is staying home from work with me, and i’m not allowed to stay in my room, i have to stay on the couch. he’s watching t.v. in the kitchen and being genial, but i can sort of tell that the not-exactly-resentment has been seeded inside him, and is slowly growing. if i keep this up it will be bad. i want to feel okay again, not like i’m using all my energy for the sole purpose of convincing myself that i do not want to be dead and that it is bad to hurt myself. i hate that this is eating me up.

cherry and i talked once the other day about how sometimes it seems like it would be so much easier to do something drastic and rash, and be put in the hospital, and get a break from it all, instead of constantly feeling shitty and having to deal with real life, too. either way it fucks your future. either you’re out of school, or your parents think you’re too unhealthy to go away to college, or whatever, or you are too much a mess to focus. i know for a fact this is bringing my grades down, and all my drive to do well, or care. i know for a fact this is ruining my friendships.  i wish i believed in god enough to think some solution might miraculously appear if i prayed hard enough, suffered long enough.

and since i am stuck in the living room, i cannot listen to conor, he who understands the painful subtleties of my life…>.<

I am filled with a latent rage.

It manifests itself in strange ways. I wear myself down and down until my skin is thin enough for the anger to get out and then it howls bloody murder at everything I know. It makes me resent what I should love and gets in the way of itself. My anger trips over its own feet and falls, screaming and frustrated, tears and sweat running down its face. My anger is a small child, lost and helpless and infuriated by the indignity of it all. My anger demands attention. It is a black hole, absorbing all that is good and solid and real around it, twisting it into some kind of idiotic, pointless semblence of a vortex. My anger does not spare anyone or anything, does not like anyone or anything. It does not like you. It will not spare you. It does not like me; it will not spare me. And I don’t like it, either. It knows that, though. It takes that energy and absorbs it and makes itself stronger, sucking me in, till instead of it being some dormant fierce creature inside me I am its long-gone prey, the weak dead thing inside of it.