Summer

15 June, 2010


I want to be more enthusiastic and happy-like, but I just can’t, unless I get stuck in one of those rare moments. I’m really depressed and physically I feel sick. I ran out of Zoloft and I keep getting brain shivers. I have a headache. I have to go to bed early so that I can go to my doctor appt. I need to fold my clothes and pack so that I can be ready to leave tomorrow. Some friends and I are going to the Wisconsin Dells for a couple days.

I really just want to sleep right now. I’m getting sad. I wanted to write a song or a poem, but there’s nothing to write about and I don’t feel up to it anymore. I have to stay up and babysit Amir* though, cos my mom’s decided to go out tonight -something that only happens once every six months or so, not even. I don’t really care. I really don’t even feel like writing this right now, but I don’t want to sit with myself in the silence because it’s too painful.

I’ve been thinking since I talked to Horowitz* the other day that maybe going the hospital is an option. I don’t want to, but maybe that’s what I need. My family would be so disappointed in me. I’d be embarrassed. My family, my grandparents probably all think I’m better. I’m not. These past few weeks have been almost unbearable. I spent four hours straight cleaning my room yesterday. I thought I’d feel better and I do, but now it’s empty and bare. I kind of rather the mess everywhere, because at least then it wasn’t lonely.

I’m lonely. I’ve isolated myself emotionally from everyone. Everyone. There’s no one that I’ve really talked to open and honestly lately about how I feel. I tell lies about myself. I figure that most of the time when people ask how you are, they don’t really care or they don’t really want to know the truth. I think we all know this deep down inside. That’s why we have phrases like, “I‘m fine/good/okay.” I mean, have you ever had someone ask you why when you responded with an “I'm good”? -That never happens. If you’re okay, there’s no need for further question, but if you aren’t okay they have to do a full investigation, complete with crime scene tape. Your whole conversation freezes right there and you hardly ever end up getting to the heart and soul of your original conversation destination, if you will. And all of this to say…..well hell I don’t know what the point is. I never do.

Oh yeah, the point is, I might have to check myself into the hospital because I haven’t been telling the truth about how I’ve been, and truthfully, I’ve been depressed and mildly suicidal.

I question, however, if I’d be going solely for safety’s sake or because my heart really isn’t set in going to PEOPLE. I’d be excused. I can’t deny that. But if I go to the hospital I’d end up having to tell a hand full of people, and even if the words didn’t come from my mouth, they’d come from someone’s. Handling all their reactions would be enough to take a second trip to the bin. Then I’d have to deal with just being in that environment again. A third time. As if I don’t feel like a loser enough already. A third trip to the psych ward. I should have come out the womb with a fucking sign saying FAIL on it.

I feel like shit. Complete and utter shit. It hasn’t even been summer for a week yet. With all the pressure and stress I had, I thought I’d be happy and optimistic and shit, but I’m not. I’m as bland as a beige carpet. This sucks. There’ve been times before where I was so fed up and angry that I would have done anything to get rid of this…thing and live my life normally, or I was so depressed and exhausted that I was just sad, I cried and wanted to end it all. Well now I’m trying to pick one of those extremes and I just can’t. I can’t . I’m not completely despondent because I’m still complaining. I just feel stuck. I’m as stuck as that Playboy Cm found lodged in his clothes chute the other day. Yup, I’m stuck like that. I don’t really care what happens at this point, I mean, obviously I do, otherwise I’d be sitting in the bin right now, but like if I end up there, I end up there. If I die, I die. If I’m walking down the street and some junkies gang rape me, well then I guess I’ll be gang raped. If I’m stuck like this, I’m stuck like this. I halfway think I deserve all those things anyway, so whatever. Honestly though, I’d rather go to the ward, get raped, get HIV/AIDS, have a baby and die alone in a snow storm than stay like this forever. I’m obviously really fucked up, and that’s not even the half of it.

I’m afraid I might be a borderline. Something tells me that I might be. I’m super clingy, more than I’d like to be, and I think my ultimate fear, if that’s possible, is abandonment. I’m really embarrassed at how needy I am at my points of desperation. I have trust issues. I loathe myself. I can live in harmony with the fact I have to live with the person I am for the rest of my life. At one point I even liked myself and accepted some of my flaws, so that’s not a huge problem. I feel that I will never come to like or love myself fully, though. I just don’t like the person that I am. I think I’m ugly and out of everything, I think I’m stupid. I feel like the lowest piece of shit that ever breathed on this earth. I’m broken. My core isn’t whole, and what’s more, my core is lost.
 
*Horowitz is the therapist I'd been seeing from my sophmore year to my January of my senior year.
*Amir is my little brother. Age 8.