Entry One

This is the last attempt. I'm serious as sulphur. The last attempt.
Why do I feel like all my blogs start off this way?
Well perhaps I won't tell anyone about this. That way, when I fail, it won't be as pathetic.
Sounds like a plan. Here I go:

The thing is, I can't sleep. I haven't been able to fall into that black bliss for some time. Staying asleep is fine, it's just getting into the knack of it that I struggle with.

I need to wash my hair.

What crosses your mine at desperate hours like these, staring blankly at the stick-on-your-ceiling stars that mildly loom over you with a sardonic, nay, pathetic glow. It's fake looking down at fake, or vice versa. Am I fake? I bend over backwards trying to make myself believe my sincerity. I do good things. I believe these good things should be done. I don't believe in God, I believe in myself (like Lennon, eh?)

And yet.

The hopelessness is slinking back. She saunters slowly, I can see the curve of her breast in the corner of my eye. I don't want to succumb, but she's so profanity-ing hard to resist.

...i really want to get off medication like really like what the fuck i can't stand living like this anymore these synthetic emotions the wide grins and bat my lashes the lucifer be fucked i don't even know why i can't stand it when the sorrow is coming back anyway it's the fucking inevitability of it all that paralyzes me til...

Let's just say I'm this sweet little waif of a thing. 15 years by the looks of it, 22 years in reality. Big bright eyes and a smile ready with your order. Would you like fries with that? Let's say this child-woman is on the brink of some un-nameable thing that she would never do anyway. It's all just theatrics, but the feelings and yearnings for the Un-nameable thing, which you all should know what I'm referring to, it's rather obvious unless you're a total idiot, run on sentence ahoy, anyway, these feelings are real.

I'm real, but am I real enough, do the meds unmake me or is it my desire to come off them the grinning demon of my own undoing. I know it is me who ultimately pulls the thread that holds the cardigan together (cardigans being preferable to sweaters in my indie-chic mind, mind you) and once the meds are out of my system I'm outta there myself, out of myself, wholly myself, the crazy broad with unwashed hair cos what's the point of it all to a deeply depressed highly anxious, unmedicated person.

I need to stay on this medicine. And I've been jonesing for some destruction.
In precisely 4 hours and 12 minutes from when I type this sentence, I have therapy.
If you're a stranger just reading this now I know you know I need it. And I'm a psych major to boot. Psychology and English, a fatal combination. Once, when I had too much pot and spent the night in a mental facility (yes, POT) I met a woman who was disturbingly a lot like me majoring in my majors and we both agreed enthusiastically that those two majors aren't good for people of our disposition. She was there because of pot too.

I'm reading Infinite Jest, and there's a lot of mention of marijuana, and that is why I bring that up.
If I smoke a joint, I could become psychotic like that time when I ended up in that facility. There's always the chance. But the need to self destruct...

I have borderline personality disorder, and I'm going to inform my therapist slash fellow human being dutifully completing his whatchamacallit to become a real therapist in several hours.

Until tonight, I hadn't mulled over suicide in a damn long while.

Andy was right about the book. It really makes you want to say fuck it life is meaningless.
...I don't think it's normal to be so AFFECTED by a book.

The facts are:
*I don't believe in heaven or hell
*I'm suicidal at the mo'
*Some people love me

I'm only here because of the third fact. I imagine if this feeling continues I will make a swift departure for California, slowly fade out of everyone's memory, and then disappear.

But not really, because I'm  a coward.

Besides, I've never tried heroin, skydiving, never seen the Northern Lights...and what the hell is the point of killing yourself when you've never done those things?!