Journal entry 2/29/12

I don’t know what it feels like to not have death as an option. Even when I’m considered stable, like snow, I still think of it often. I haven’t burned myself in so long, my scars have fasted, an yet, I still think of suicide as a “get out of shitty life “free card. I stare at the gian 150 count bottle of pills and wonder if I’d make it through without throwing up first or passing out. Of course, I’d have to eat all of my Vyvanse and Klonopin too. Lamictal won’t cut the mustard. Why is this still such an obsession for me? Once it was there, in my brain, it’s like it planter it’s see to stay. I keep hacking away at the soil but to no avail. Will I always struggle with suicidality? What an exhausting existence.

Journal entry August 10, 2011

Well, after I told Chris what happened with Anne and had a good cry, he put a completely different perspective on this whole thing. My plan to try and “hate” her in order to make it easier to leave Is probably not going to work now. he mentioned that there’s the possibility that she goes home and is affected over this too. I just broke down. I started sobbing from my gut for a good 5 minutes, I couldn’t breathe. To think of her in pain caused me even more pain.

Journal entry August 9,2011

I want to hate you to make it easier to leave. I want to despise and resent you so that when I look back on you, I don’t cry. I don’t want to feel like you’re vital to my life that is being torn away against my will. Why do I always get to feel like I made the mistake? I was too open. I was too clingy. I was unstable and I scared you. You’re just plain sick of me. Maybe I started acting like we were friends too much instead of maintaining proper protocol? I’m sorry for whatever I did. I have a natural tendency to latch on and smother everyone so I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re leaving. I guess I’d leave me too. Everyone always has and always will. I’m trying so hard to be mad at you. I’m hoping off I can succeed, at least a little, it won’t hurt so much. To be honest, I have no idea what to do except cry and lay in bed.

Journal entry 4/19/11

Sitting on the edge of my bed, contemplating where on my body I should burn. So many racing thoughts running through my head. Thinking about far too many things at once. It’s enough to drive you mad.

i feel repulsive, so I want to make myself truly repulsive. I want to be so disgusting that no one ever wants to be with me. I feel like a piece of shit. Worthless and ugly.

FAT FAT

not only am I physically ugly, I’m a shit friend and girlfriend. My personality sucks. I’m negative and self involved. I wouldn’t be with me. Why should anyone else? What positive things do I bring to the table? Nothing.

im

I don’t know how it feels to want to be alive.

I don’t know what it feels like to not have death as an option. Even when I’m considered stable, like I am now, I still think of it often. I haven’t burned myself in so long, my scars have faded and yet, I still think of suicide as a “get out of shitty life” free card. I stare at the giant 15o count bottle of pills and wonder if I’d make it though without throwing up first or passing out. Of course I’d have to eat all of my Vyvanse and Klonopin too. Lamictal won’t cut the mustard. Why is this still an obsession for me? Once it was there, in my brain, it’s like it planted it’s seed to stay. I keep hacking away at the soil around it but, nothing. Will I always struggle with suicidality? What an exhausting existence.