As I lie here and stare

The fabric starts to tear
It's far beyond repair
And I don't really care


The Line Begins to Blur - Nine Inch Nails


This is how I'm starting to feel about everything. I just don't care. Oh, I knocked that over, I should probably clean it up. Let's not. That bug's kind of annoying. Kill it or shut up.

I've been isolating a bit. A LOT more thoughts of death. I've had the urge to throw myself into traffic or jump off of high places. I realized I was subconsciously more than happy to give away my possessions, which is a bad, bad thing. I've made progress from the 'no one would miss me' thing. Yeah. Now you just realize you're unimportant enough that they'll get over it. You'll be a memory. It's also finding pleasure in reminding me how much of an attentionwhore I am when it comes to R. If S gets any of her attention at the same time that I do, I feel ignored, or worse, and, it hurts her. It hurts HER? Are you fucking kidding me? Worry about us for once you moron. She's not worth it. She's worth it.

It won't give up, it wants me dead. God damn this noise inside my head.

If I just wasn't born, my mother and father would never have stayed together.
I would never have ruined so many peoples lives by myself.
I'd no longer be a burden on my mother. The bills would get easier to pay without me being such a leech.
R could be with S and she'd be sad but she'd get over it.

I've had one sweet bit of logic to fight back with:
Existence harms. Nonexistence harms worse. That won't be my problem after this.

I still have people who love me, including my mother and R, and that's what matters. As long as they're there, I have purpose, I have meaning, even when I don't think I do, and I need to grasp onto that with all of my power.

You let me do this to you

I am an exit.

These words are still ringing true. I feel like a selfish brat as illustrated in my soon-to-be next blog post. I can't help but feel that I've let my depression come back and do this to me. It's rubbing it in my face. It's flaunting how easy it would be to just stop now. I really am mister Self Destruct.

But the ending doesn't have to be the same. I'll find a way out that doesn't require death. Somehow.

You don't deserve yourself

and you sure as hell don't deserve her.

Recently, my depressions focal point has been trying to stop me from caring about a girl I love named R. It's a complicated situation, but, instead of just working towards my happiness via happiness, it wants to work towards my happiness via hatred and isolation. As if that's going to work. Like you know what's good for you? Look where you are. Look where you've gotten. Oh, that's right. Nowhere. That's the longest I've left the Machine on and I'm starting to regret it. Thoughts like this flow through my brain nonstop.

There's a guy from England who she loves, too, and, I'd do anything to be him, or to just have that attention he gets focused on me. I think what bothers me is how annoying it is that she cares about him and will bend over backwards for him. I want to be that important...

I wanna know everything, I wanna be everywhere, I wanna fuck everyone in the world, I wanna do something that matters.

Leaving for my psychiatrists appointment soon, going to see if she can change my meds and maybe get this to go back away. I don't know whether it's the abilify fucking up or if it's the episode with R and that guy from England.

More pills. That'll fix you.

Maybe it will.

Initial Post

I'm relatively familiar with how this blogging thing works now so it won't be as awkward.

Today, R, a girl who I care about very, very much, and I got into an argument about another guy she likes. I'll spare the details, as that can be found on another blog, and this is dedicated to monitoring my depression.

She eventually texted me saying "I'm bleeding. Don't talk to me for a few hours."

Being the self destructive entity, or having used to have been that entity, I immediately took that to mean she had done some form of self harm- She has a bad habit of digging her nails into her arms, but, she emphasized before that she had never drawn blood from doing it, which is why this affected me so.

I just about wanted to die. Thoughts of self hatred poured in because I had momentarily become the thing that I had swore I would never be. I began to think of whether or not she would be okay if I died, and the rest of my family, but, mostly her. I guess I'm at that age where friends start meaning more to you than the ones who may have fucked up while raising an impressionable child. I also began thinking how much happier she could be if I just dropped off the face of the world so that she could be with this other guy that she liked instead of being torn between us and having my constant insecurities pop up.

I've accidentally turned on the Machine again, and, it's furious with me. I have it handled, but, I don't know for how much longer. If I write in italics, I'll be using to log thoughts from the Machine.

You won't get rid of me. I'll always be back.

It sucks- A friend, SK, and I were discussing before how discussing the depression itself can agitate and wake it back up. We were so afraid of it happening to her because of her bipolar, and, look who else it happens to.

You're an idiot for letting this happen.

I'm going to keep using what you believe is your rational logic to try and fend off the thoughts that it brings. Wish the best for me, anyone and everyone. Won't do much good in the long run.

I'm not going to let it get the last word on my very first post.