"And I'm quite aware we're dying, And your hands they shake with goodbyes"
i went home early today. here's an entry i wrote in my journal first period. don't read it if you don't want to hear my emoness. "If i'm open i can be free" ::deep breath::
"I can barely do this. This pen is barely being dragged across the page. But i have to write, creativity is the only plus to this; after all this is what i wanted all along. So why can't i enjoy it? Because i'm too busy being miserable? but it's not even that. Because i'm not. I just have no motivation. It just doesn't make sense. I can feel myself grow hyserical. i can feel a fake stupid grin plastered on my face that everyone can see through but no one laughs at it. I worry that my legs won't be able to move next time i need to stand up. That i'll be frozen in my chair and everyone will be confused and whisper to each other about how sick i am, but i won't even care because they already do anyways. I feel the thought invade my mind "What's the point?" Then i remember all at once that there is none. This normally means i'm free. It means i can do anything i want without ultimate consequence; we all die in the end anyways, might as well enjoy it, right? But my brian can't regestier that, my brain can't even make my legs move.
So i'm there, existing bankly as they tell me it's the meds or lack there of. I'd tell them to shove it and that they don't know what it's like to have no control of your body, to have no thought, to have the constant oppertunity to overdose when you're all drugged out. But my mouth can't form the words. Maybe my brain can't even form the thought fast enough or maybe it just whizzes by in a tidal wave of other thoughts. But there is no point, they'll never understand. There's no point to any of it.
I heard "across the universe" on the radio last night and got a little teary-eyed when i sand along to "Jai guru deva aum" and as i remembered so distinctly the feel of sharpy against my skin as Zach wrote those lyrics on my hand which i refused to scrub off for the next week. Then i realized i don't have that anymore. It's been too long since i've felt really close to someone. I miss being able to have someone there for me, and i mis being there for somebody. I miss Zach and Tim and Carl and Burt and Aaron and Melissa and Max and Rachel and Kelly and everyone else i was close to but lost through my own stupidity and incompetence. Because i still love them terribly bu this distance is killing me. But it's not use wishin that stuff could go back to normal beacuse it never does.
Sometimes i think i have the power to make stuff better...[blah blah blah you prob already know my brilliant plan]... But I'm too selfish... But i'll make it up to you guys one day. You do so much for me, the leats i can do is try and fix stuff...
I can feel mysle on the verge of tears, the verge of insanity. But i hold on,i fight it back, but why? Wouldn't it be so much easier to let the warm, dark, deep, water close over my head? To not even worry about breathing, just let the darkness fill my lungs? AND with a sigh of relief sleep?..."
so yeah that's part of the entry but i'm sick of typing and i'm sorry to be a bummer, but i'm just trying to keep my resolution of not being so closed up. so there it is. I'm not asking for your help and especially not your pity.That's just what's going down.
PS-my mom talked to my shrink (i DIDN'T tlak to EITHER of them about it) and they're putting my backon wellbutrin. fuck them.
"so here i am, i'm trying..."
"I can barely do this. This pen is barely being dragged across the page. But i have to write, creativity is the only plus to this; after all this is what i wanted all along. So why can't i enjoy it? Because i'm too busy being miserable? but it's not even that. Because i'm not. I just have no motivation. It just doesn't make sense. I can feel myself grow hyserical. i can feel a fake stupid grin plastered on my face that everyone can see through but no one laughs at it. I worry that my legs won't be able to move next time i need to stand up. That i'll be frozen in my chair and everyone will be confused and whisper to each other about how sick i am, but i won't even care because they already do anyways. I feel the thought invade my mind "What's the point?" Then i remember all at once that there is none. This normally means i'm free. It means i can do anything i want without ultimate consequence; we all die in the end anyways, might as well enjoy it, right? But my brian can't regestier that, my brain can't even make my legs move.
So i'm there, existing bankly as they tell me it's the meds or lack there of. I'd tell them to shove it and that they don't know what it's like to have no control of your body, to have no thought, to have the constant oppertunity to overdose when you're all drugged out. But my mouth can't form the words. Maybe my brain can't even form the thought fast enough or maybe it just whizzes by in a tidal wave of other thoughts. But there is no point, they'll never understand. There's no point to any of it.
I heard "across the universe" on the radio last night and got a little teary-eyed when i sand along to "Jai guru deva aum" and as i remembered so distinctly the feel of sharpy against my skin as Zach wrote those lyrics on my hand which i refused to scrub off for the next week. Then i realized i don't have that anymore. It's been too long since i've felt really close to someone. I miss being able to have someone there for me, and i mis being there for somebody. I miss Zach and Tim and Carl and Burt and Aaron and Melissa and Max and Rachel and Kelly and everyone else i was close to but lost through my own stupidity and incompetence. Because i still love them terribly bu this distance is killing me. But it's not use wishin that stuff could go back to normal beacuse it never does.
Sometimes i think i have the power to make stuff better...[blah blah blah you prob already know my brilliant plan]... But I'm too selfish... But i'll make it up to you guys one day. You do so much for me, the leats i can do is try and fix stuff...
I can feel mysle on the verge of tears, the verge of insanity. But i hold on,i fight it back, but why? Wouldn't it be so much easier to let the warm, dark, deep, water close over my head? To not even worry about breathing, just let the darkness fill my lungs? AND with a sigh of relief sleep?..."
so yeah that's part of the entry but i'm sick of typing and i'm sorry to be a bummer, but i'm just trying to keep my resolution of not being so closed up. so there it is. I'm not asking for your help and especially not your pity.That's just what's going down.
PS-my mom talked to my shrink (i DIDN'T tlak to EITHER of them about it) and they're putting my backon wellbutrin. fuck them.
"so here i am, i'm trying..."