random odd assortment of thoughts. in no particular order.
i've been having some odd dreams lately. some of them involve friends, some of them involve celebrities i'd like to fuck. none of them, however, involve friends i'd like to fuck. oh well.
also, i have been battling with a cyclical, but stubborn depression. sometimes i'm okay, sometimes i think that driving my car off of a cliff would be a good thing. but that'd be a waste of a perfectly good car. maybe playing in rush hour traffic would be better. everyone i've spoken to about this has suggested either therapy or medication. neither of which i can afford. unfortunately, my preferred method of dealing with my depression is barred from me, based upon promises i was emotionally blackmailed into making to a few people.
most of the time i just think that my existence in this universe, on this planet is a waste of space that should rightfully go to someone more deserving of it. i'm in a dead-end job, barely making enough money to keep a roof over my head and food in my fridge, and, though i'm going to school, i still don't think it's enough of an improvement in my admittedly wasted life to justify its continuance.
i want to get a few things straight with this post. i am not being an attention whore. i am not pulling a 'let's see who still cares for poor little tellura' crap post. i'm dumping all this here in the hopes that maybe getting it out of my system on a forum designed for this purpose will ease the razorblade gnawings in my heart and my soul with all this fear and doubt and pain and discomfort in my own skin.
sometimes i just feel this uncontrollable urge to break things, important things, valuable things... just to break them. today, at the peak of one of my episodes, once again, denied my primary form of comfort by others, i shredded a stack of old bridal magazines in a semi-conscious destructive fantasy. and it didn't help.
i didn't even get papercuts for my troubles.
also, i have been battling with a cyclical, but stubborn depression. sometimes i'm okay, sometimes i think that driving my car off of a cliff would be a good thing. but that'd be a waste of a perfectly good car. maybe playing in rush hour traffic would be better. everyone i've spoken to about this has suggested either therapy or medication. neither of which i can afford. unfortunately, my preferred method of dealing with my depression is barred from me, based upon promises i was emotionally blackmailed into making to a few people.
most of the time i just think that my existence in this universe, on this planet is a waste of space that should rightfully go to someone more deserving of it. i'm in a dead-end job, barely making enough money to keep a roof over my head and food in my fridge, and, though i'm going to school, i still don't think it's enough of an improvement in my admittedly wasted life to justify its continuance.
i want to get a few things straight with this post. i am not being an attention whore. i am not pulling a 'let's see who still cares for poor little tellura' crap post. i'm dumping all this here in the hopes that maybe getting it out of my system on a forum designed for this purpose will ease the razorblade gnawings in my heart and my soul with all this fear and doubt and pain and discomfort in my own skin.
sometimes i just feel this uncontrollable urge to break things, important things, valuable things... just to break them. today, at the peak of one of my episodes, once again, denied my primary form of comfort by others, i shredded a stack of old bridal magazines in a semi-conscious destructive fantasy. and it didn't help.
i didn't even get papercuts for my troubles.