March 2000

3/03/00~My days haven't been any better than usual. It's night now and it's there's a lot of lighting outside, but no thunder. Is that possible? It's beginning to bug me. Not that it scares me, but it's kinda like that little kid fear coming back. And I have no one to pray to for comfort. I typed myself an email yesterday (yes, I'm pathetic.) and talked about how I just wanted someone someone to help me out of this. I guess I just needed to write and get things out. Maybe I should just get over all this and make myself happy like I usually am, but then what will have been the point of me going through this? Today, some of my friends said I complain a whole lot and have been in a pissy mood. This was so bad. See, I know I get like that, but I had been trying so hard to cover it up, and when I realized that I really had been acting like that a lot, it hurt. I don't know about anything. I'm tired and I want to sleep, but it's still lighting and no thunder. How weird!

"> 3/03/00~I really haven't been wanting to write in here much and that's weird because it seems like I would want to have something to confide myself in, since I don't tell anyone else or talk to God about anything. But, I just sort of write now out of duty and I know I will really regret it if I don't record things now.

"> 3/06/00~I just came back a while ago from listening to a guy whose daughter had been killed in a school shooting. I makes me think a lot. It was though the girl knew she was going to die. Listening to her diary entries made me think almost that there has to be a God. And yet, I have to admit, no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling that there is a God. I just refuse to speak to Him. I've almost gone a month now without praying. Why am I doing this? Sometimes I know and then sometimes I really don't have a reason. I need help and I know God knows that, but He won't send any. I can't ask God directly, because when I do and nothing happens, I feel completely betrayed and get so depressed for my belief in something that's not there. As I said, I so need help right now, but no help will come, because help never comes. And I sit here, and try to live my life normal, and for the most part I do, but it's really hard when I'm sitting here trying to write, and there's 3 other girls in my room being happy and laughing and I feel so out of it, so not with any of the group and I just want to be alone, but that is impossible in a dorm. I'm crying help and I wonder if anyone can hear or if anyone cares. I feel like I'm invisible.

"> 3/08/00~My roommate just came in and obviously she had been crying. Now 2 of our friends came in and they're all going to the library where I'm sure they'll have a big cry fest together. Why? Because my roommate's having a bad day? Who cares? What makes her bad days better than my bad days? Why do people care about her and listen to her and I'm just ignored? Because I don't show it. I feel no compassion or sorrow for her being upset, instead it just makes me angry! Why should I care about her when all I'm thinking is. "Oh, so YOU'RE having a bad day? YOU'RE upset? Well, maybe I am too, but I, I suck it up and pretend I'm fine when really I'm dying inside!!" I'm so selfish, but dangit, it feels good!!! I don't know how many times I'm going to have to say this before it matters, but: help.

"> 3/20/00~I haven't written in a long time. It's been a long time since I wrote that stuff before. I don't even care about writing anymore. I probably should; it'd be good to understand me now, but I don't even. Maybe someday I'll write again and actually write something. I've now even lost desire to confide in my journal and I'm not even sure why.

"> 3/30/00~I know I should write in here. There's so much I'll probably want to know what it was really like so I can look back upon. But why write? Things don't flow from me anymore. They sit stagnant in my head. I think them and I know them, but why share them? They're mine. There's no way I could write all the things that should be written. I don't even want to write them. So, then the answer should be easy: don't write. But I need to. Do I really want to re-live my life the past weeks? Can't I just not think and eventually forget? My thoughts can't come out in words, so why do I even try? If I keep up this thinking, I'm gonna stop writing and who knows when I'll ever pick this journal up again. But if I stop thinking, what will I write?
Tomorrow will be 7 weeks without praying. The more I think, the more depressed I become, but being in this state is the only way I'm real. It seems so much like truth. I think weird. I don't know how not to argue with myself. I've stopped asking for help, and yet, I'm doing better. But do I really want to be better? That just means that eventually it's got to go bad again. But if it's the lowest point now, then all I have to do is go up. Last week was the worst so far. But why write? It all seems so petty now. To think, these past 7 weeks have been 7 weeks of my life. 7 weeks wasted! 7 weeks that when I look back on my life seem like a blur. And that's how they will always seem. And that's why I should write, so I'll have a small piece of the blur to hang on to.
What is keeping me from writing? Why am I resisting? Perhaps I'm not ready for it to end. Perhaps somehow I want to stay stuck in this mire, like it gives me a reason to stay out. It's truth to me and I'm better off in it than, well, I guess I don't know. I just know that knowing that I'm stuck in it keeps me realistic. I may not be as happy as if I were to ignore that fact, but at least I'm not deceiving myself anymore. I have truth.
Maybe someday I'll unjumble all the pieces and make sense of all this: To say I've been desperate doesn't really describe it. To say I wanted to kill myself isn't necessarily true. To say I needed help doesn't cover everything. I doubt I would've done anything serious, yet when no one seems to notice the borderline serious things, I try to do more to get noticed. No one noticed how depressed I was; they passed it off as me being moody, so I tried to find something physical that maybe somebody would notice. Maybe if the weather hadn't been getting warmer so wearing long sleeves is absurd and I hadn't gotten poison ivy all over my arms, I'd still be continuing to do it when I get these depression attacks. I don't know how to let it out now: wait until next winter and then next spring I'll just wind up w/all these strange scars on my arms? I can't wait that long. I seem to believe, or maybe want to believe, I'll be better by then.