In which everything I want to do is overshadowed by a crippling sense of morality.
I don't know at what point it occurred to me that I have no zeal for a lot of the things occurring in my everyday life. I want to cry but nothing I can do will bring those tears and the emotional release. I think its because I used to be a huge crybaby and now I've been repressing tears for so long. Moving on, I have the overwhelming desire to do something exciting. Smoke weed. Huff glue. Sneak out at three a.m. I don't know — just something. Mostly, I want to start back cutting, because, however bad it is, I feel it is less life threatening than inhalant abuse, which I'm nearing every single day at school when I open the white-out bottle to correct a mistake in my notebook.
I don't know when these feelings started, but it might have happened after my father had a heart attack at the same time I was coming to terms with my sexuality and consulting a trusty razor blade when I didn't like my own answers to questions I asked myself. Also, I think I am a horrible person, sometimes, but I've been thinking that way for years, now.
I might be depressed but I absolutely hate that word. I am just aware that I am consistently tired, have a fluctuating appetite, a wicked knack for self-deprecation and next to no ambition to continue to try at school. At least I'm keeping the sharp objects away. I'm trying to be a better person, you know?
I apologize for taking up your time with this post that I don't think means anything, but I needed to get this out of my system.
I don't know at what point it occurred to me that I have no zeal for a lot of the things occurring in my everyday life. I want to cry but nothing I can do will bring those tears and the emotional release. I think its because I used to be a huge crybaby and now I've been repressing tears for so long. Moving on, I have the overwhelming desire to do something exciting. Smoke weed. Huff glue. Sneak out at three a.m. I don't know — just something. Mostly, I want to start back cutting, because, however bad it is, I feel it is less life threatening than inhalant abuse, which I'm nearing every single day at school when I open the white-out bottle to correct a mistake in my notebook.
I don't know when these feelings started, but it might have happened after my father had a heart attack at the same time I was coming to terms with my sexuality and consulting a trusty razor blade when I didn't like my own answers to questions I asked myself. Also, I think I am a horrible person, sometimes, but I've been thinking that way for years, now.
I might be depressed but I absolutely hate that word. I am just aware that I am consistently tired, have a fluctuating appetite, a wicked knack for self-deprecation and next to no ambition to continue to try at school. At least I'm keeping the sharp objects away. I'm trying to be a better person, you know?
I apologize for taking up your time with this post that I don't think means anything, but I needed to get this out of my system.
- Feels like I'm never gonna learn how to love myself