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I freaked out at work today, in emporium three, as usual. Itís getting worse and worse as the weeks go on. I canít let people walk behind me. Itís insane; even people who I trust most. Iím afraid that when I see Sam on Sunday, Iíll be scared of him. And heís the person I trust and love most in the world; I know heíd never hurt me or let me come to any harm. But Iím terrified of every person I know, and most of all, Iím scared of myself. Itís only me that ever causes hurt to myself.
I didnít freak out about being raped or murdered at work tonight. Which, you know, is something to be proud of. Seeing as how sometimes the thought might not leave my head for days at a time. I can feel it, really feel it happening when Iím awake and just going about my daily activities. Iím sick sick sick in the head because none of these dreams and thoughts are real; everything that causes me pain is simply a product of my imagination.
But I had a good day today. A really good day; this is just the wine talking.
If the imaginary monsters living in my head could kindly remove themselves from my brain, it would be very much appreciated.
Your time is up; youíre not my friends anymore. You donít keep me safe, or distract me from reality. Not like you used to. You have me dangling in a constant state of terror and confusion; I feel like a nervous wreck. I shake and tremble when you make the slightest appearance, and whimpers escape me too quickly for me to hold them in. Iím falling down again, and only I can stop it happening.
But I want attention.
I don't know which I prefer, the general doom, gloom, and scary craziness of a few weeks ago, or my current state of Perfect Happiness Until The Smallest Thing Sets Me Off Into Shakes And Whimpers. It's not so bad, I just really need to shake myself out of this. I am a happy, sane person, damn it and refuse not to be. OK, that's actually a lie, seeing as I'm self indulgent and pathetic, but hey... I can kid myself, right?
My mum and I have
convinced my sister to get psychological help. Because she is Batshit Insane.
I worry about you so much. But I canít seem to bring myself to ask you if youíre OK. Initiating always was the hardest part of anything. I worry what answer youíre going to give me. You, who looks after me so much. I wonder if itís frustrating for you? You help me and talk me through it and you make me feel better than I ever thought possible. Then, the next day, maybe the day after, itís back to square one, and you have to do it all over again. Why canít I return the help you give me?
I canít escape the overwhelming feeling that karma is finally catching up with me. Itís crazy; I feel sorry for myself and hate you all for this, but the situation at the moment is only a fraction of the pain I and suffering I have caused to other people. One person especially. I donít think anyone could hate me quite as much as I do. But I donít hate myself enough to enjoy the immense hurt you caused me these past few years. The only slight advantage is that Iím self indulgent and love to have something to complain about.
Alternation of this degree is so very confusing. Today, I feel amazing. Really good. I walked away from college after my last class this afternoon, and everything seemed... So very last year. Not in a ďoh youíre so last year, darlingĒ kind of way, but in a ďI feel as perfectly and insanely happy as I did last year, and maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be OKĒ kind of way. 'Glowing' is a good way to describe that feeling, even if youíre not a new age hippy or something.
I think I might be becoming a summer person.
At times like this, I feel nothing. Nothing at all. But itís not bad; itís not like feeling numb. I have to wonder if this is simply what it feels like to be normal. Perhaps Iím so used to not feeling good at all, that when I feel fine... It seems like an absence of feeling?
I spoke too soon. I typed too soon. How much I miss you; it feels impossibly huge and indescribable. None of the previous mumbo-jumbo happiness is gone, but thereís an awful ache inside of me. The day I found you was a new start.
Does everybody feel this lost? Itís not necessarily bad. The reaction depends on whatever mood already has a hold of me. Right now, I feel small and insignificant, but not sad. Itís relaxing, to think that nothing really depends on me, and even when I ruin things, itís not mass destruction or the end of the world. Despite it sometimes feeling that way.
Dependence of just one person could drive me insane. I let the idea get a hold of my head and it doesnít let go for days. Itís vain to think I could mean that much to anyone
Itís like, no matter how good I feel, thereís one thing I always want to talk endlessly about. But even if I was given the chance to do that, to ramble on endlessly, to say whatever I like, no matter how insane, gross, or self-pitying it sounded, I wouldnít know where to begin. I wouldnít know what the middle or end was either; I donít know what it is what I want to say.
Thereís only so many times you can rephrase ďI really want to harm but Iím annoyingly self controlled and wonít let myselfĒ before you get boring.
Everyone thinks Iím sex-obsessed. I find it hilarious that Iím the one everyone thinks has a really dirty mind and sick sense of humour. Itís not like they can be blamed for believing that, itís just that they donít seem to understand
I am. Sex repulses me, a lot of the time. Iím terrified of intimacy. Iím terrified of being forced. Thereís only one person in the world I feel safe with. I hate the thought that someone could find my weakness and make me vulnerable. They canít do that if youíre the ďmost pervertedĒ one; they canít win.
My wrists have gotten fatter, Iíve noticed. Iím not quite certain whether they got any thinner in the first place, or if it was just my own hopeful imagination. I get excited when I have to punch a new hole in my watch strap, you see. I had to make yet another hole in my belt the other day, but I never
any smaller. I can now wrap the fingers of one hand around the other wrist, just like I used to pathetically wish I could, but Iíve just been telling myself that my fingers have simply gotten longer.
Sam said to write about something nice, so this entry is of course, rather different to the normal spew I usually come out with.
Very good* things:
Samís bum (Norma has quizzed me about this, and though it is certainly very cute, Iím not sure what it is that make it cute)
Samís hair (Itís fun to play with and he has a perdy smile, you see)
Other important bodily parts that, though they most definitely deserve a mention, arenít being named.
*For Ďgoodí, read Ďrather awesome, in a way that makes me forget all the silly negative entries
I donít get why fruitís not an addictive substance; itís so damn yummy.
I really wish I knew how to say all the good things. I find it really difficult to talk about positive things and happy feelings. Theyíre there so often these days, but I always find something to complain about. I find something to moan about because I know how to do that. Itís easy. I wish I could write about how lucky I am and how much one person seems to have totally changed me for the better. Even thatís difficult to type; itís so goddamn cheesy.
Apparently I have found a Miracle Cure. For fixing me, I mean.
It would appear that four days with Sam does me the world of good. The only downs Iíve had since coming home yesterday have been the tiny minute-long snaps where I suddenly have a bit of a weep then snap right out of it and go back to being happy and high (maybe my body canít cope with being Full On Happy or something, and so it has to inject miniscule bursts of sadness into my mood every so often, just to keep the peace?)
Way too happy.
Iím still doing good. I have slight inclinations to start worrying about how feeling this happy can never be good, as it will inevitably end sooner or later, and the crash back down will probably feel even worse, due to the previous feelings of loveliness.
On the other hand, I have decided not to do that. I have decided not to ruin this by silly thoughts like that. I will enjoy this for as long as it lasts. Hell, maybe Iíll get lucky and itíll only start waning towards the end of next week; then Saturday can pick me up.
This is really bizarre.
I can actually feel the two extremes struggling with each other. Iím still in a really good mood, but... I really donít know how to describe whatís going on inside of me at the moment. Imagine a little furry monster thatís trapped inside a tough egg. The egg is happiness. The furry monster is Pathetic and Crying and Depression. He keeps making little attempts to get out, but the egg holds him in; sometimes heíll manage to hit hard enough to make a slight crack in the egg. But the egg always heals itself, almost instantly.
I am, for some reason, already completely exhausted, but aside from that, everything still seems OK. Itís only the first day back at college, I only had to go in for two hours, yet I feel shattered.
Sometimes, it feels like my weekdays are just the waiting room. I just have to sit it out, whilst I wait for the weekends to come around again. Or, every other weekend.
Not that I wouldnít miss my friends dearly if they were gone, I love them a lot. But no one fills that hole quite like Sam does.
Sexual innuendo fully intended.
I sometimes (often) wish that Iíd never stopped cutting. Itís not that I even require it as a Ďcoping methodí or anything (though, that sometimes
why I crave it); I just miss it. I miss knowing that something as small as a razorblade would always be there for me, itíd always fix me. I miss the blood, a lot. I miss the pain... Pain is rarely a bad experience for me, I often wonder if Iím just wired wrong, and that itís just natural for me to get pleasure from harming?
I miss the rush right now; Iím tired.
When Iím like this, I think Iím afraid of crying. Iím so very hellbent on being ĎHappy Rachelí that I wonít even allow myself to cry and be weepy when my body is calling for it. I am tired, but not in a need-to-sleep kind of way. Itís that kind of tired where you know that a good cry would refresh you. But Iím so ĎHappyí; I donít want to go back. I donít want to ever cry again, and I want to deny everything about myself and the world which could possibly cause me or anyone else any pain.
I feel so crap. I havenít wanted to actually give up this much in ages. Iím so lucky that I have the one thing thatís stopping me from doing anything... I know that if it wasnít for Sam, Iíd be able to see nothing right now. Complete nothingness and therefore, no reason to be here.
I hate being so pathetic, and I hate myself for hating myself. Self-hatred is so emo and stupid. I wish I would change, so much. I like it when I donít want to die. I like it when my face isnít covered with these tears.
Appears that clothes shopping only serves to make me feel even more fat and ugly. Nearly cried in middle of street because skinny girl ran past. Am quite pathetic. Am also beginning to realise I should just accept that Iíll never not be fat and ugly; will always hate reflection in mirror. Wish that I would not cling on to hopes of otherwise. However, am dedicating self to getting up early like I used to so will have time to wear make up. Have come to decision that I should really be saving up for plastic surgery rather than university.
Girls are odd little things, arenít they? A guy they barely know comes out, and itís all they can do to stop themselves from having an orgasm over the
ďeeek, you can be my awesome new gay best friend and we can
excitement. But give them a (dramatic music, please)
and theyíre practically running for the hills in
ďoh my god, Iím going to be lady-rapedĒ
Make sense? ...I mean, itís not like all of them can be doing that just to cover up their sexuality fears, is it? Most girls are so unnecessarily ridiculous.
And, sheís back again. Happy Rachel, that is. Two weeks before the next pick-me-up, but sheíll cope. Probably via the use of food (both the over- and under- consumption of it), crying, and too much time in bed, but sheíll manage.
That is, however, dependable on whether her internet connection remains this precarious. If it does, people may die. This is unfortunate, but necessary. Because violence solves all sorts of feelings and problems, does it not?
...Aside from the ones originating in the violence, of course. And violence always causes problems and feelings, so itís just one hilarious vicious cycle.
My reflection tends to look better after Iíve been running. Not
; I realise that actual change takes time (the change from this time last year is very noticeable; Iím nearly a stone lighter and far less spotty); itís obviously a psychological thing. Itís just far easier to look at yourself in the mirror without grimacing when youíve been running. Thereís still the case of the
mental reaction, but that canít be helped. But itís a smaller reaction than when I havenít been running, and even a small reduction is a nice relief from feeling like Whale Lady.
I wouldnít say Iím coping very well at the moment.
Time alone at home is wasted as I spend it waiting for college to come so that I can either maintain and illusion of stability and merriment, or actually experience it, due to being surrounded by my friends. Time spent at college, meanwhile, is wasted as I spend it waiting for every other weekend to come; the only time when I can be assured that Iíll feel safe and happy. And, that I wonít spend the night crying and unable to sleep when I want to.
Thisíll pass, Iím certain.
Itís always nice to find that youíre not quite as alone in your crazy habits (past or present ones) as you originally thought. Yes, practically everyone uses the Ďfifteen minute ruleí when theyíre trying not to self-harm; I get that a lot of people donít get anything out of the red pen thing, though I always have done; and I myself havenít ever found the clenching ice cubes or snapping elastic bands to be very helpful. Apparently itís more common than I thought for people to have photos of their injuries. It helps, I have found, in two different ways.
Thereís a few entries in this batch that I greatly dislike; Iíve considered not finishing so that no one sees those few. But never mind, I can ignore them.
I made an appointment at the doctors for Monday. I nearly didnít; mainly because I havenít felt terrible in nearly two days, which is a vast improvement. However, it would be ridiculous to base my decision on the past day or so. I could have countless mood swings before Monday comes. I wouldnít mind if they just tell me to quit whinging and get over it; Iíd just like an opinion.
Yes, I completely thought that yesterday was the last day of the month. I forgot 2008 was a leap year. It was a bit of a shock to the system to wake up and discover an extra day in the year this morning. Still, people always crave more time, so it was a Ďpleasantí surprise. Sort of. Sometimes, I do tell myself off for wishing the time away, but that doesnít stop me doing it. I wish away weekdays and some weekends, and the next year and a half. Of course, college work makes me want time to stand still.
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