3 months

I almost ended it, two–three days ago. I don’t know. My head just feels like a foggy mess right now. I’m trying to distract myself by watching Making A Murderer for the heck of it.

There was just this need to just be done with it, you know? I even started hurting myself, although it’s not really much of a big deal, the wound or whatever. I obviously need a therapist. But I just can’t make myself pick up the phone and make an appointment for some reason. I also find myself clamming up or shutting up whenever I really want to tell someone I have a problem.

Like, look, I wanna tell you but I can’t. Can’t. Maybe under all that underlying can’t there’s actually some story of psychoanalysis but I just can’t ok? I don’t fucking know why.

I’m trying to live here. By live I mean function. My brain is a mess. My emotions are a mess. My logic is starting to be a mess. My rationality is having a headache though.

Anytime now I feel like flying off to lalaland and never come back. My distractions keep me more or less grounded. I’m even trying to care here.

Care is such a delicate word. Oh, your wallet is lost and you’re trying to find it? I actually threw it behind that thing because you’re fucking annoying. You remind me of things I don’t want remembered. I don’t know where it is, really. Maybe I should keep it for myself since you can’t even find it. Good luck finding it. Whatever.

I don’t want to get out. I’m tired. I’m gonna have an anxiety attack and nobody will notice. I’ll feel like fucking dying and nobody will care. I’m just some adult acting like a kid because she’s crying in public. Why couldn’t I do it in the comfort room or something? Am I trying to get attention or something? My eyes hurt, that’s why I’m wearing shades. It’s sensitive to light right now. I’ve been crying to no end and my eyes are red. I’m probably gonna cry in public later, and I don’t want to grab any attention. God knows the stares are annoying. What are you gonna do about it as you stare at me? Comfort me? Ha.

Please keep quiet. There are enough voices in me telling me stuff that are so loud already. It’s not that easy to just ignore them. They, or I guess me, won’t stop. And they’re not very nice to me. Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking fight me. I can’t do this shit anymore. I can’t handle people. I can’t handle noise. You didn’t even bother to quiet down. Why won’t someone kill me already? I am fucking ready to die yet other people are dying instead of me.

I am so fucking tired, bro.