Why does a wise man take leave of his senses?Where is that fine line where sanity melts?
Along with it becoming obvious that I never made a fake name for myself here, it also showed me that nobody read my journal anymore either. No, this is not some pathetic "please comment on my journal" plea but just an observation. I didn't start this journal to be popular or to have 400 friends listed on my list, it was for myself and I guess that is how I shall continue in it.
I ended up chatting to Antoine online last night. I didn't say what I wanted, have been wanting, to for the longest time. All of my preparations in my mind, all those perfect phrases and words that I wanted to tell him. All the pain and hurt and desperation that was contained inside of me wanted to be released but for some reason I didn't say any of it. All of the time spent building myself up for the moment when I could tell him everything-all he has done to me and their effect on my own well-being and esteem. But after my meager 'hi' I lost it all, lost every will in my body to tell him the entire truth and the chat ended up being pointless. I hope to never speak to him again. It all just reminded me of what exactly it was that I was avoiding all that time I didn't have any contact with him. I emailed my best friend the chat and she said that he was an idiot and insensitive, also that he doesnt understand, doesnt care. He also has managed to piss her off. I love my best friend so much, I just wish she didn't have to be in Hungary right now. It's almost as if the times that I need her most she isn't here to comfort me. She is the only person who has ever kept me sane in anything that happened to me. I am in no way holding it against her, she has to do what she has to do but I just wish she was here for me.
This morning was no better than other mornings. The weathermen said it was going to be in the 100s index today so I spent 20 minutes shaving this morning at 5:30am just to find out that the capris I was planning on wearing didn't fit me anymore. I only bought them last summer. Neither did my favorite skort fit. I am not about to waste money on clothes just because I had to be a fat slob and gain all this weight. If I don't lose weight I don't know what I will do if not for my appearance than for my health and well-being.
I was quiet during the entire time my dad drove me to the train this morning. While we were waiting for the train he asked me what I was going to do with my life. I have gained a terrible amount of weight, my hair looks like a big frizzy mess, the PCOS has caused even worse hirustism than before and I have no social life whatsoever. I told him that I hated people and he asked then what was my purpose for living. Yea. Exactly. He was worried about my future self and how I was ever going to get married. I dismissed it all with a wave. I cared, I care very much, but I do not wish to speak to him about it. As I was getting out he yelled after me, "you need to see a psychiatrist". I always thought I did, but to actually have someone tell me was a bit weird.
The train is always a place where most of my thinking takes place. I wonder if people can look at me and see that I feel ugly. I wonder if they can see that I feel disgusting or that suicide is on my mind. I wonder what they think when they see me hunched in the back in the corner seat on the train, holding my bookbag tight, clutching it as if it was my only life support. I wonder if it's all written on my face, I wonder if they see a warning, a disclaimer-careful, don't sit here, this girl is unstable.
I ended up chatting to Antoine online last night. I didn't say what I wanted, have been wanting, to for the longest time. All of my preparations in my mind, all those perfect phrases and words that I wanted to tell him. All the pain and hurt and desperation that was contained inside of me wanted to be released but for some reason I didn't say any of it. All of the time spent building myself up for the moment when I could tell him everything-all he has done to me and their effect on my own well-being and esteem. But after my meager 'hi' I lost it all, lost every will in my body to tell him the entire truth and the chat ended up being pointless. I hope to never speak to him again. It all just reminded me of what exactly it was that I was avoiding all that time I didn't have any contact with him. I emailed my best friend the chat and she said that he was an idiot and insensitive, also that he doesnt understand, doesnt care. He also has managed to piss her off. I love my best friend so much, I just wish she didn't have to be in Hungary right now. It's almost as if the times that I need her most she isn't here to comfort me. She is the only person who has ever kept me sane in anything that happened to me. I am in no way holding it against her, she has to do what she has to do but I just wish she was here for me.
This morning was no better than other mornings. The weathermen said it was going to be in the 100s index today so I spent 20 minutes shaving this morning at 5:30am just to find out that the capris I was planning on wearing didn't fit me anymore. I only bought them last summer. Neither did my favorite skort fit. I am not about to waste money on clothes just because I had to be a fat slob and gain all this weight. If I don't lose weight I don't know what I will do if not for my appearance than for my health and well-being.
I was quiet during the entire time my dad drove me to the train this morning. While we were waiting for the train he asked me what I was going to do with my life. I have gained a terrible amount of weight, my hair looks like a big frizzy mess, the PCOS has caused even worse hirustism than before and I have no social life whatsoever. I told him that I hated people and he asked then what was my purpose for living. Yea. Exactly. He was worried about my future self and how I was ever going to get married. I dismissed it all with a wave. I cared, I care very much, but I do not wish to speak to him about it. As I was getting out he yelled after me, "you need to see a psychiatrist". I always thought I did, but to actually have someone tell me was a bit weird.
The train is always a place where most of my thinking takes place. I wonder if people can look at me and see that I feel ugly. I wonder if they can see that I feel disgusting or that suicide is on my mind. I wonder what they think when they see me hunched in the back in the corner seat on the train, holding my bookbag tight, clutching it as if it was my only life support. I wonder if it's all written on my face, I wonder if they see a warning, a disclaimer-careful, don't sit here, this girl is unstable.