4:05pm - 5:15pm 12/17/06
Well, that was a very pleasant surprise. My friend Dustin from GMU came to visit me. I didn't really expect any visitors, so that was definitely an uplifting experience. He says things are going fine at school, nothing too exciting really. He stayed till 4 though, and that meant a shit load to me.
In other news, the doctor increased my dosage of a lot of drugs. Now I'm taking:
60 mg Celexa
150 mg Wellbutrin (2x daily)
60 mg Geodon
2 mg Ativan
8 mg Lunesta
100 mg Seroquel
So I'm kind of happy about that. Hopefully I can get the right cocktail of drugs to make me feel non-suicidal. I really think one on one therapy is what I most need though, so I'll definitely have to talk to my dad about that. I like that I'm getting drugged up. I think the right combination will make me feel better all the time. And get rid of these pesky, yet persistent, suicidal thoughts.
I also talked to Lizz a little bit. She said she could tell that I was more cheerful, which is true, because I had a visitor and didn't expect it.
I just got a compliment. The black girl here, Patrice, said that she could see me becoming a brilliant writer of something, I just need to get out of this depression. The thing is, I didn't really feel depressed today. I felt alright, I write a lot, but I still felt highly suicidal. So it's weird. Maybe it's the anxiety of being here that makes me feel so suicidal. I mean, Dustin said it's supposed to be relaxing here, and it kind of is. But on the other hand, I just don't like this feeling of being like a caged animal.
Maybe that's why there's some great writers out there. I meant great writers like those famous people who have been in sanitariums. I can't think of them right now, but there are a lot of writers out there who had their minds pressure cooked inside prisons or institutions.
I definitely feel different. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe it's that caged feeling, or maybe it's just the fact that I can't do anything else except write. Maybe that's what got everyone (those writers) going as well. Instead of really socializing, they wrote, and eventually committed suicide. I could see myself that way. Maybe if I get some things published, and they make decent money, then I can pursue this as a career of some sort. And then commit suicide. I really wish my parents would call. I need some one on one attention rather than the group therapy stuff.
Eugh, I just had asked the psychiatrist for "privileges." Everyone has them, except me. And of course he asked one question. I didn't expect the question, but it came from his Polish-accented mouth nonetheless: "Are you suicidal?"
And, I wasn't going to lie, yes, I am. I am very suicidal. I don't know why, but I am very suicidal. I didn't have a bad day; it was actually a pretty good day, with Dustin visiting and all. And yet I still think of those billions in the world, and how small an effect I will make on them. As Patrice says, I need purpose. But it's more than that. I think I can understand that my purpose is to procreate, make money, make my mark on the world. I just don't think I'll make a very big mark on the world. And if you can't make a big mark on the world, then there is no point to living. And with all the energy I seem to have, I'm just more insistent on the fact that I have no reason to live.
I'm not trying to impose my philosophy on others, but I think it's a fairly logical and concise line of thinking. If I knew that I was going to be, say, an assembly line worker for toilet paper, I would just kill myself rather than try and change things. Because it would be so much work to change things, and the pain that I would go through throughout life would be too much. And that's why I want to kill myself, because I feel that there's a much too small percentage that I'll be someone of importance. And there are things in life that already cause me pain and stress.
Gah. Room mate Chris is telling the story of how he met his girlfriend. It's rather boring; the way he's telling it is horrible too. He's got that country twang and slooooww manner of speech. Wow. I thought he was done with his story. So I told my story with Lizz and interrupted him by accident. What a long boring story.
In other news, the doctor increased my dosage of a lot of drugs. Now I'm taking:
60 mg Celexa
150 mg Wellbutrin (2x daily)
60 mg Geodon
2 mg Ativan
8 mg Lunesta
100 mg Seroquel
So I'm kind of happy about that. Hopefully I can get the right cocktail of drugs to make me feel non-suicidal. I really think one on one therapy is what I most need though, so I'll definitely have to talk to my dad about that. I like that I'm getting drugged up. I think the right combination will make me feel better all the time. And get rid of these pesky, yet persistent, suicidal thoughts.
I also talked to Lizz a little bit. She said she could tell that I was more cheerful, which is true, because I had a visitor and didn't expect it.
I just got a compliment. The black girl here, Patrice, said that she could see me becoming a brilliant writer of something, I just need to get out of this depression. The thing is, I didn't really feel depressed today. I felt alright, I write a lot, but I still felt highly suicidal. So it's weird. Maybe it's the anxiety of being here that makes me feel so suicidal. I mean, Dustin said it's supposed to be relaxing here, and it kind of is. But on the other hand, I just don't like this feeling of being like a caged animal.
Maybe that's why there's some great writers out there. I meant great writers like those famous people who have been in sanitariums. I can't think of them right now, but there are a lot of writers out there who had their minds pressure cooked inside prisons or institutions.
I definitely feel different. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe it's that caged feeling, or maybe it's just the fact that I can't do anything else except write. Maybe that's what got everyone (those writers) going as well. Instead of really socializing, they wrote, and eventually committed suicide. I could see myself that way. Maybe if I get some things published, and they make decent money, then I can pursue this as a career of some sort. And then commit suicide. I really wish my parents would call. I need some one on one attention rather than the group therapy stuff.
Eugh, I just had asked the psychiatrist for "privileges." Everyone has them, except me. And of course he asked one question. I didn't expect the question, but it came from his Polish-accented mouth nonetheless: "Are you suicidal?"
And, I wasn't going to lie, yes, I am. I am very suicidal. I don't know why, but I am very suicidal. I didn't have a bad day; it was actually a pretty good day, with Dustin visiting and all. And yet I still think of those billions in the world, and how small an effect I will make on them. As Patrice says, I need purpose. But it's more than that. I think I can understand that my purpose is to procreate, make money, make my mark on the world. I just don't think I'll make a very big mark on the world. And if you can't make a big mark on the world, then there is no point to living. And with all the energy I seem to have, I'm just more insistent on the fact that I have no reason to live.
I'm not trying to impose my philosophy on others, but I think it's a fairly logical and concise line of thinking. If I knew that I was going to be, say, an assembly line worker for toilet paper, I would just kill myself rather than try and change things. Because it would be so much work to change things, and the pain that I would go through throughout life would be too much. And that's why I want to kill myself, because I feel that there's a much too small percentage that I'll be someone of importance. And there are things in life that already cause me pain and stress.
Gah. Room mate Chris is telling the story of how he met his girlfriend. It's rather boring; the way he's telling it is horrible too. He's got that country twang and slooooww manner of speech. Wow. I thought he was done with his story. So I told my story with Lizz and interrupted him by accident. What a long boring story.