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Read this if you're new (or bored...).
2005-02-26 - 4:27 p.m.
Writing is safer than self-destruction
He says that this is out of nowhere, that I've been fine for weeks, that this is actually progress. I haven't been fine. I've been scared, and overwhelmed, and just plain tired. Tired of life. I've been hopeless, I've been touchy, I've been more irritable than usual. How could anyone not have seen this coming? I slept 13 hours. I yelled at him when he suggested I skip lunch. I got really, *really* offended when he suggested that what I remember happening never happened (I still say it did). Two seperate tries to watch movies for my film class failed miserably. And I'm miserable. This isn't progress. Progress would be me being able to function. Progress would be me not needing interventions. Progress would be happiness. They say one way to increase your happiness is to count your blessings. This is bullshit. All counting your blessings does is remind you that you're an unappreciative bitch who has no right to complain when people who have *real* problems are getting along just fine. They say food and sex lead to happiness for obvious evolutionary reasons. But I'm about as turned off as I get, and I know I'm not hungry. If I ate, it would be to fill an emotional void, and I know better than to get into that habit. I've seen how hard it is to break. I'm useless, and overwhelmed, and scared, and doomed. And damn it, it's not as simple as anyone thinks, except for maybe people who have been there. "Just change your attitude." Right. Because those come in a brightly-colored box for $19.99 at the mall. Besides, optimisim doesn't work out for me. I keep getting disappointed.
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