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| Mindy, as to the answer to your question about "slicey-dicey", I'm afraid I must change my answer, as sometime after your call I went "slicey-dicey" to my arm. And it was deep - it bled through the bandage and stained it a pretty burgundy-brown. Colored the edge of the knife, too, which wasn't something I could do before. I've noticed something - everytime I stop for a while, and then continue, it's always worse. Of course, I haven't gotten to the point that I need stitches, as my blade isn't as sharp as it should be. Though I do have another blade that is sharper - very much so, too. I'm almost afraid of what the people I work with will say when they see it - but it's only one cut, however deep it may be. I've decided to keep a journal of my feelings and what-not - sort of a diary, I suppose, only not so girly and... yeah. It's mostly just going to be about my psychotic breaks and emotional crisis, depression and observations. If it gets long enough I might try to get it published, but it's unlikely. It's called "Diary of a Loser Insane". Personally, I like the title - and so do the little people in my head. Speaking of them, they've seem to become more prominent in my life, what with speaking and what-not - I think they might even be(come) more than just voices, which is a scary thought, considering. And the whole suicidal thing hasn't gone away - I've actually thought (quite comically, too) about holding my head under bath-water, or standing in front of one of the cars I pass almost every day on my way to work. It's getting quite scary. And I've already figured out that Lexapro doesn't work for me. It makes me nauseous and dizzy, and doesn't held until the next day, when my seratonin levels sky-rocket and stay that high for at least twenty-four hours. At least, it seems that way. Every day I go to work I pass under this bridge, and it's really nice - save for the suicidal thoughts about jumping off of it down into oncoming traffic - but other than that, it's kind of cool to sit under. Relaxing, almost. Except for the raging traffic, of course, but headphones and a CD player mostly fix that. I'm sorry if I make anyone worry, but I don't think.... Well, I just need help - serious, professional, psychiatric/psychological help. Unfortunately, I don't have the money it takes to see a therapist - and I doubt I'd be able to talk about my problems right off with a complete stranger. Also, in other news, my newest story on fanfiction.net seems to be going well too. It's called "Painting the White to Gray", a NaruSasu fic dealing with some of the things I've gone through, am stil going through, and some of the things people around me have dealt with. If you like, you can check it out, but be sure to leave a review - please. | | |
| You know what? I just wrote a bunch of stuff here, but the pop-blocker was on. So I took it off, and it completely erased it. All of it.
I was talking about suicide, and overthinking things. About my current thoughts about all of it and stuff like that. Personal stuff that took some time to actually get down. And it's all gone in a blink because of a stupid pop-up.
Screw it. Mindy, sue the inventors of pop-ups, and the pop-up blocker people. I'm going to jump of a bridge.
This is just too.... ugh...
Whatever, this it stupid.
Good night. Good bye, whatever - I'm too tired to deal with this shit. | | |
| Deep breath. Let it out.
Deep breath... And just keep holding it until I die from lack of oxygen.
...Okay, so I guess I have to keep breathing for now, huh? Damn.
CLUE: In case you hadn't notice, I've got the feelings again, and Melissa is no help.
Earlier today, Janet came over with one of her sons to get the scooter and the chest-/trunk-thing, and I was wearing my flowy skirt - my legs were showing. Janet asked about my left leg (You know, the one with H-A-T-E spelled down it) and Melissa - like she knows - says, "You don't wanna know."
I need a shrink. Or maybe anger management classes, because sooner or later, I'm going to end up taking out some major frustration on people who happen to be semi-close to me - mainly my roommate.
Get this: She comes home from work and says she's tired. I say I'm tired too. She says, "You have no reason to be tired, you haven't done anything except sit at home." You know what I wanted to do? Well, it was a tough choice between ripping her trachea out or ripping open my forearm. I still feel that way.
I'm not allowed to feel tired, even after I go to sleep sometime after midnight then wake up before two in the morning - not able to fall back asleep - because my tooth is creating mass panic in my jaw. Let's just say half my face felt REALLY bad for a while.
When I do finally get to sleep, the dogs have to start barking at nothing - and this is every morning. The road behind us is having some kind of home built, so there's construction. Every neighbor has at least two dogs - mostly more.
The cats are always knocking things over and throwing themselves at walls and doors, breaking things and knocking things over for the dogs to tear apart. It's usually mass hysteria when I step out of my room.
And I get to clean everything up. Sweep up the crap (literally), mop up the pee, and pick up whatever Melissa has left out this time. Take out the trash, dump the water in the bucket, feed the animals, do the dishes, pick up all of Melissa's dishes and junk and wash them, clean the cat pans, occasionally clean the ferret cage, do whatever it is that Melissa has told me to do on the list.
But I don't have a job, so I'm not allowed to be tired. Nope, no fatigue at all.
And she's a spendoholic, on things she doesn't even need. She has at least a dozen half-empty Mountain Dew bottles in her truck, even more in her room, a few floating around the house - and she still has the NEED to go get more.
And I'm going back to eating VERY LITTLE. I need to make it last, anyway. I now have water, some fruit (cantoloupe, strawberry, and blueberry), some lettuce that's probably brown by now (no Italian dressing, anyway), mushy tomatoes that I'll probably end up frowing at and throwing away eventually, frozen hashbrowns that have no taste at all (and are a bit TOO oily for me), three frozen pizzas that'll probably make me sick in the end, and Health Nut bread.
Lately, anything I eat makes me sick, save for a piece of bread or two every several hours or so. It's weird, but I guess I HAVE to stick to the bread now. Oh well. I'm used to it. And if I run out of that, there's alway cat and dog food to fall back on. Joke, don't worry.
Karla'll make sure I have something to eat. And if not, I'll just sneak something out of Melissa's truck - everyday she stops and RaceTrac, whether she wants to admit it or not.
Currently, after being paid on Friday, she has $20 in her account. It's only Saturday. That's rediculous. And Karla doesn't have money either - I think she's getting paid this coming weekend though. Yeah, the 2nd, because we went shopping the 18th or 19th and got some interview clothes. (Melissa had to get a new outfit because she let the cats play with it, so now it has snags and smells like cat poo.) She also got some new boots - which I'll probably end up going Kleptomaniac on, like I did her last boots.
I asked her about moving to Arizona (nice place I here, with wolves - had me sold) but she said that she could only get a job here, and that Arizona has killer bees. I don't really see what that has to do with anything, but we're not allowed to move there. If I really do ending living with her, I'll never be able to go anywhere - and I'll probably end up being her maid, along with paying the bills and getting a job of my own.
I really hope I CAN live with Karla. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. And from what I here, Aunt Sandy might come down here to go to nursing school, and then she'll be living with Karla too. I think I'd be able to live with them. With Melissa however - no, very unlikely.
Have I mentioned I want to get out of here? | | |
| Hello again.
Well, I'm still being treated about the same. Taco ruined my sandals by peeing on them - while I was right there, too! Stupid dog...
And Karla said, if it doesn't work out with Melissa, I could always move in with her. It's just next door, but I'll be farther away than living with her, so that's good. Karla's noticing her ways too, and she's getting tired of her as well.
The other day, Melissa even left me a note telling me to pick up after the dogs. Not only that, but I always have to pick after HER too, and it gets tiring very quickly. I'm surprised Karla has put up with it as long she has. Guess now it's my turn.
Yay, go me! ... yeah, right.
I've been talking to Karla more, and we have many things in common - other than a bitchy Melissa, that is. Karla seems to think that maybe Melissa is jealous, because the same thing happened when Amanda was adopted. Only now, the only time Karla has to herself, Melissa is never around, and since I don't have a job, I'm always home, so I end up spending time with her mother when she doesn't.
Of course, when both of them are off, Melissa is always ignoring everybody and playing on her computer, then later she complains that she didn't get to spend anytime with her mother. Go figure.
You know, I think I should stop now, because it's getting really hard to type, and talk to Mindy and Josh at the same time.
Oh, and an update into the animal world:
5 geckos
1 snake
5 dogs
4 cats
2 fish
2 ferrets
I think that's it... at least for now.
Later! | | |
| My life is shit. Literally. Everything smells like shit - the lot behind the laundromat, the hallway in the house, the dogs, the cats, the laundry - EVERYTHING! Hell, I can't even eat without getting sick - which would probably be why I don't eat all that often (along with the fact that the only thing in the house that I'd eat is bread and water, which isn't much, really).
I cut again. My "roommate" got on my nerves (what's new?) and I couldn't her attitude (when can I?) so I carved "Bitch" into my left forearm. Luckily nothings too deep and it's not itchy or infected, so it shouldn't scar too badly - just incase you're wondering.
I've been writing a bit more - and reading. Just recently, I read "Half-Human", collected stories by Bruce Coville, and... grr! I'm trying to think of what it was... Ah! "Companions of the Night", by Vivian Vande Velde. Or something like that.
I had this dream - I believe it was the night of the full moon, but I can't be sure - of this guy. And I actually recalled his face! Which is amazing, as I don't recall faces very well - recall, no, remember, yes. I'm lucky if I can recall my mom's face - or my own! Give me a picture, and it's easy to point out, but tell me to describe, and that's a no.
I've been meaning to draw it, but I just haven't felt like it. I've been hot and all bleh! The house temperature is around 93 or more. It's usually between 85 to 99. And the air doesn't work.
The dogs still won't quit barking. They're driving me crazy - I can't get a moment of peace! When the dogs stop being annoying, the cats have to start hissing and knocking things over, fighting and what-not. When neither are doing that, it's the neighbors and what-not making a ruckus. Then when everything is finally silent - save for the neighbors and the streets and all that stuff, the phone rings!
It's driving me insane! I've already had several breakdowns, one of which was only an hour or so ago, while I was talking to myself as I walked around the laundromat, and then spoke to the roaches in what little French I knew - that I didn't even know I knew!
I almost broke down crying! It's way too hard to handle. I need a doctor. I need to get out of here. I need to stop thinking suicidal thoughts. Yes, you heard correctly - they're back again, though I'm trying not to let them get the best of me. It's seriously hard not to.
I take a cold shower every morning, no hot water at all, only cold, but it's never cold enough - it... yeah, okay, not gonna say it. (It drives me crazy!...again.) I'm half tempted to take all the cold water out of the fridge and pour in a bath for me - but I doubt even that would be cool enough.
I seriously need help. And soon. Or else I'm afraid of what I might do - and what's even worse, is that it might not even be to myself. | | |
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