Let me apologize...

I am so angry. And so despondent. And I want to die.

I started using my other tumblr more often this summer. A way to get back to writing and documenting my life. And I would think about this one and how it was the place to leave my darkness.

Now I’m sure that any of my friends who do a little digging could find this. But no one would put in the effort so it is safe. The only issue is that I can’t reblog the vast majority of the posts here, because even if I like the writing or sentiment, the amount of damage control and awkward questions would be too much.

But there’s something liberating about this. Saying what I want and feel without fearing too much repercussion.

I tried to kill myself once. And the doctors were surprised I made it. Even more surprised that no one knows about it other then the people bound by law not to talk about it.

I don’t know why it didn’t work. I tried making something out of my life. I tried medication and talking and trying and tomorrow I’m going to get up and forget this grief I’m feeling right now. I’m going to tell myself it’s going to be better. Tomorrow.

Right now though? Right now I want to jump off a cliff. Right now I want to walk into traffic. Right now I want to camp out on the South Shore and wait for Irene to take me. If I could, I wouldn’t leave a poetic note. I wouldn’t apologize as much as last time. I would tell them to go fuck themselves, and yes, that this is their fault.

It’s been quite some time since my last post hasn’t it?

I’ve started on some medication. It’s he first time I’ve taken any, and I’m not entirely sure when it’ll will kick in or what I’m to expect when it does. I’m closing in on the 4 week mark so we’ll see.

I froze like a deer in headlights when my mom found the bottle while helping me move out of my house at school. She just looked at it and put it down. I wasn’t sure what to think of it, but now I realize she didn’t say anything because my dad was there. She’s been pleased with the weight I’ve lost this semester, and a few days later, she mentioned how well my diet pills must be working.

I don’t know what’s worse, that I have to hide the fact that I’m taking meds for severe depression from my own mother, or the fact that she thinks they’re fucking diet pills. It’s not like I haven’t been too busy, too stresses, or just to fucking tired to eat properly or anything like that.

I want to scream. And I want to die, like always. But what if I can find something to hold on to? I’m so scared that I’ll miss it. But I’m also scared that I’m too weak to hold out for it either.

I’m falling apart at the seams. Pull on a thread, watch me unravel. And people don’t understand because I can’t explain it to them. Shame, guilt, grief, failure.

Failure.

Once was just so easy. And I’m tired but I want to make something of myself. I think that’s what makes this worse.

[1.30]

I missed it. That one year mark. I’m never going to see a [365] at the bottom of one of these posts.

A year later and I’m still in the same place, maybe even worse off, but there is one huge difference. I’m desperately searching for reasons to keep living. I don’t want it to end, to have to hurt everyone who loves me more than I will ever deserve.

I want my light at the end of the tunnel. The darkness and the hate are still there. But I’m fighting so it’ll be harder to drag me away. Now all I need is to find what will hold me here.

[1.15]

There’s so much to do. I have a 20 page final draft of a paper due tomorrow at 5. I have a proposal and a take-home final-thing due Monday and one more final on Thursday. I’ve been good to myself. And I’ve been trying to get things in order. I plan on starting to write again, even if it’s just 100 words a day. Does that seem fair? Reasonable?

Please let this be good.

[319]