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i'm not here - this isn't happening - last entry / next entry - The first time - 126 | 11.21.02 7:47 amLost. Angry. Bewildered. Just cried to R for half an hour about how I want to kill myself. Frustration. It seems that every time I try to succeed in life, I fail. And I just keep on sinking lower. Why can�t I win just once? It would be a really nice change. I�ve been itching to go to Adam�s pharmacy and buy a bottle of sleeping pills and wash the whole thing down with some Absolut. A perfect end to a perfect day. When things aren�t going well at all, I think of this song from Trainspotting: �Perfect Day� by Lou Reed Just a perfect day, Oh it's such a perfect day, Just a perfect day, Oh it's such a perfect day, You' re going to reap just what you sow, Rob is the only thing that keeps me going on. R and Melissa. And even then, they don�t need me, I need them. I rely on them to dig me out every time I fall in. I almost wish I was a heroine addict, and then I could lose myself in something. Blame it on the drugs. At least I�d have an excuse. I don�t have an excuse now. I�m just a borne loser. And to top it all off, I can�t concentrate. Another song I keep thinking about: �How to Disappear Completely� by Radiohead That there, that's not me And float down the Liffey I'm not here In a little while I'll be gone And I'm not here Strobe lights and blown speakers I'm not here I'm not here, I'm not here I�m really considering doing something drastic. Not as in killing myself, which although is tempting, is not realistic. I have been wanting more and more to pierce all sorts of things, the most conservative of which are my nose and lower lip. I want to dye my hair red, sort of like it used to be, but BRIGHT audacious red, with blond chunk highlights. I want to wear black eyeliner, because that�s how I feel � black. I feel � wrong. That�s the only way I can describe it. Just wrong. I keep on screwing up. I�m never happy. Why can�t I just be fucking happy already? I had an incredibly bizarre but vivid dream last night. It had to do with a house that R and I had bought. We had taken it off the hands of some old lady, and it was partially furnished. I guess she just packed up quickly and left. We were walking around the house and looking at the plans. It had doors to the outside everywhere. On the main floor was the master bedroom and a swimming pool. There was a downstairs, which DID take into consideration the space the pool took up. Down there, there were dressing rooms like at the Y. There were also other rooms and a big window leading to the back yard. At one end, there was a tiny, narrow staircase that led upstairs into the hallway next to the master bedroom. I seem to remember there were three such staircases scattered about. Another was actually in the bedroom. I can�t remember exactly where the third one was. Maybe in the main hallway. I know I�m basing this dream on Nate�s sister�s house, which is a million dollar house and has, strangely enough, three staircases. Such a beautiful house! Anyway, I must have woken up and fallen back asleep because the dream takes bizarre twists. The dream is still based on the house, but the point changes. After I take this tour, I go back into the main entryway, next to the living room, and we discover the previous owner has left her pets, some snakes and rodents and such. I realize they haven�t eaten (this is part of a recurring nightmare I have where I forget to feed my hamsters and rabbits and guinea pig) and so I go to the man selling pet food (in the house, right next to the animals, for some reason) and he sells me some food, but he overcharges me. I leave him with the food and some money, and tell him to figure it out and feed the animals. Then (wake up, fall back asleep) Rob�s family is in the pool with us. Megan, our niece, comes over to us really excited, and we go see what she has found. It�s a ghost or maybe a poltergeist. He�s floating around in the pool, and he wants us to stay out. Megan is absolutely entranced by this ghost, but I consider it a threat, and I�m trying to scare it away. Then (wake up, fall back asleep) we�re back in the main entranceway, which looks like this run down old house I used to live in in Bedford. The previous owner has just called us to tell us that she is coming back to pick up some paintings she left, and we don�t seem to care much. Then I leave to go shopping, but I�m in a car or a smaller vehicle, and I get caught in a busy street with people. I get out and walk into a street display of clothing and get stuck and feel trapped, and� that�s all she wrote. I guess I woke up for good then. Such bizarre dreams. I took a melatonin before I went to sleep last night because I thought I wouldn�t be able to without it. I was extremely stressed because of some woman I sold a Globe Theatre kit to. It triggered a whole panic attack, and another one this evening. Bitch. Fucking whore. It�s not my problem you�re a control freak and expect the world. I am not Burger King, and you cannot have it your way. I�m just a person trying to help other people build models. You thought I was god? Wrong. Anyway, so that�s why I didn�t write last night. I tried to relax by watching two episodes from the second season of the Sopranos. It worked a little. Very little. I know I only slept because of the melatonin. Just want to do it. End it. Fuck. This is not going the way I had hoped. I feel so empty. I keep wondering if I should be committed. Just want to go. Want to go. Want to go. Want to go. LET ME GO. Fuck the world. Where is the order that�s supposed to exist? There�s supposed to be a reason for it all. What�s my reason? I keep on preparing myself for success and it never comes. I always fail. R said to me tonight, you just haven�t found something you like yet. I doubt I ever will. I want to do nothing. I want to be nothing. I can succeed at that. It�s easy! It�s just all so much work and I don�t enjoy it at all. I�m a waste of space, a waste of air, a waste of money. Do I really belong in an institution? I�m so full of rage toward myself. I�ve been compulsively overeating. It really gets in the way of losing weight. I�m miserable, so I eat a bowl of cereal. I�m sad, so I have some cookies. It doesn�t have to be a special occasion. As long as the food�s there, it goes down my throat. We watched the end of the VS fashion show and I sat there with my eyes glazed over at how skinny those girls are. It�s just not fair. Sometimes I wish I could fast. I have considered locking up all the food we had in the shed over Thanksgiving. R is going away, and I�ll be all by myself. I could just cross stitch and watch movies for a few days. Or just sleep. No one would care. That would be nice. I don�t have to work Thursday or Friday, but I volunteered to work Saturday. I need the hours. I need the money. If I could just lose weight, I could work at the strip club, too. But we know where that dream�s going. Down the drains. Not quite literally enough. I can�t let myself go to the gym, I have a real psychological block there when I try to go and I have things I need to do. Like I have one more kit to put together before week�s end. I should have finished it tonight. Still need to cut dowels and straws and it will be fine. I can cut the straws now but I can�t do the dowels because Rob�s asleep and the sawing is loud. I always have an excuse. I really should try to write about something useful. The first time I tried to commit suicide. More like a cry for help, really. I was so desperately in love with my boyfriend. We would talk on the phone for hours at a time and talk about the future and make plans. I must have been na�ve. We were together for nine months. My dad got the news that he had gotten a job with the Air Force in Germany. We were leaving in August and it was supposed to be a three year assignment. That meant I would graduate there. I was absolutely crushed. I had just started high school and started to get a feeling of who I was and what I wanted, and now it was all going to change. My world started to fall apart. The boyfriend started to get quiet. We were working on lighting for the school musical. The second night of the show, he told me he didn�t think he wanted to be with me anymore. His dad had taken him out for dinner the previous weekend and told him that he should date other people, and he just decided that was a good idea. So much for loving me. The next morning, Saturday, I had to go to a retreat with my friends. We went to some monastery and prayed and stuff, and I felt so empty, like I was walking in a dream. I thought that maybe we could work things out. We had talked about staying together while I was in Germany. I thought maybe our love was strong enough. Like I said, I must have been na�ve. After the retreat, I went to set up for the closing night of the show. He sent his best friend, Evan, to tell me that he wasn�t interested in getting back together with me because this girl Tracy had taken him home the night before and they had decided to �be more than friends.� Asshole. Moved on quickly, right? I went into the girls� bathroom up on the second floor and locked myself in a stall and just bawled. I guess his friend told him and he felt obligated to come up and see me. I exploded in rage at him. He flinched when I threw my sweatshirt at him. He thought I was going to attack him. (I should have.) I felt so hurt and I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. (The story of my life.) I was doing the spotlight by myself, so I was up above the auditorium in a dark space, lonely, crying. Before the show even started, I was crying in the dark above people. I kept hitting my head against the cement wall and clawing at my skin, sobbing violently but quietly. I was truly in the midst of one of my first major anxiety attacks. At intermission, I asked my friend Amity to come up there with me because I didn�t want to be alone. This was totally against regulation. I didn�t care. We almost got caught. It would have been worth it, I should not have been alone. But anyway. After the show, I sat on the curb waiting for my parents to pick me up. Another of his friends, Adam, sat on the curb next to me trying to cheer me up. I wasn�t having any of it. I can�t remember what I said exactly, but he described it later as �totally suicidal.� I really scared the shit out of him. My parents went to bed, and I didn�t. I locked myself in the bathroom and took the blade out of my mother�s razor. It was old and dull. I didn�t realize that, and I probably wouldn�t have cared anyway. I tried to cut my left wrist with it. I pushed harder and harder and harder. Only a little blood came out. I ran the water and tried to cut again, hoping that the water would speed up the bleeding. Only a little bit more. Was the razor no good or was it that I had no guts? I tried to cut my thigh. That seemed to be no problem. I made several lines on my right thigh with a pleasing result. The little beads of blood bubbled up and I finally felt I had accomplished something. I tried the wrist again. I was starting to shake and feel even more hopeless, like, �Great, I can�t even do this right.� Then suddenly a thought flashed through my mind. What if I really do die? My parents will find me, but not in time, and I will die. I don�t want to die. And like that, I stopped. I blotted the blood with some toilet paper until the bleeding had slowed down, and I dabbed it all with Desitin so it would heal. So I would live. I left the bathroom and went back into my room. I needed to cheer myself up, so I though maybe some Monty Python would do the trick. I listened for about a minute, but it just annoyed me. I went into the kitchen to have something to eat. I poured myself a bowl of Honey Clusters of Oats � I remember it very specifically � and added the milk. Suddenly the doorbell rang. It was 12:30 AM. I poked my head out the door, and there were Adam and Evan. They were so worried about me that they got their parents to bring them over to my house to check on me. I was so lucky that my parents didn�t wake up. Well, lucky, I thought. I invited them in and they sat down with me to talk. Both Adam and Evan had tried to call me, but I had left the phone off the hook, somehow knowing that someone would try to call. Adam had called the Samaritans to find out what to do with a suicidal friend. He said they were no help at all. But they did say that if the phone was off the hook, that was a good indication that something was seriously wrong and they should take action. I told them what I had done and even showed them (it was hard to miss seeing as how the blood had soaked through my shorts), but I told them I had talked myself out of it and that it wasn�t as bad as it looked. I was going to live. They both agreed that my ex was an ass, and they both doubted his integrity (but they forgot about that within a week or so), and tried to cheer me up. My brother came home in the midst of this. He was obviously buzzed and disoriented. He seemed a little surprised that there were two guys in the living room with me, but not all that surprised. He just went to bed. The guys left at 2, pretty confident that I wasn�t going to try again. The next day was Mother�s Day. I wore a long-sleeved shirt and it was warm that day. My brother was looking at me funny. I got through the day. I cried myself to sleep. Monday morning I got ready for school, still walking in a cloud. It was my ex�s birthday. My eyes were incredibly puffy. I had tried to get rid of the puffiness with ice, but to no avail. I made it through the morning and even English with the ex, but then during lunch I looked out the window to the front of the school and there was my ex�s mom, coming into the school. I went to my next class, thinking, �Huh, that was odd.� I got called out of my class by my counselor. I went to see her, and she told me that she had heard from a source that I had tried to commit suicide. Again, I was na�ve, and I instantly started sobbing and told her my whole swan song. I thought I was absolved, like when you confess to a priest. Then she hit me with a curve: she had to call my parents. I pleaded with her not to do it! She said she was required by law to report an attempt of suicide to the parents. She made me a deal though. She said that I could call and tell my mom, but I had to do it from her office, and my mom had to come pick me up after school. I believe all I told my mom was that I had tried to hurt myself, and the counselor advised that I stay out of school for the rest of the week and see a therapist. All my mom asked when she picked me up was what I had done (�Cut myself,�) with what (�A razor,�) and where (�My wrist and thigh,� and I showed her the bandage on my wrist.) That night I called my ex. He really didn�t want to talk to me. I said, �It�s your birthday and I wanted to say Happy Birthday.� �OK.� �Why did your mom come in today?� �She had to bring something in for me.� �Oh�. Why did you do it?� �Because I care about you,� he said angrily. It sure didn�t sound like he cared. I didn�t even know that he knew what I had tried to do. Later I found out that Adam and Evan had talked to him on Sunday and told him what happened. He was pretty shook up. His mom came in to support him in talking to his counselor about me. His counselor told my counselor, and the rest was history. I never called him again. I did indeed stay home the rest of the week. I watched Hook again and again and again. I wore my PJs all day. I slept a lot. I cried a lot. When I felt like doing it again, I would find my mom, rested my head against her leg or her shoulder, and cried. She never said anything, just held me. Such a good mommy. My brother told me that that night he had thought it was strange a car was idling in our driveway, so he went over to see what was up, and Evan�s dad and Adam�s mom had told him about me. So he knew on Mother�s Day. Rumors circulated about me in school. Whatever. I took them in stride. After all, I was still alive. I made new friends. I grew up. I moved on. It took a long time, though. I tried to make my peace with him, in fact, and he wanted nothing to do with me or my peace. The truth was he had been a good friend. But that ended quite abruptly. He blamed me for screwing him up. I�m sorry? Wasn�t he the one who dumped me? So that�s my sorry little story about breaking up and trying to commit suicide. It�s not good. I�m not proud of it. But it�s my story.
Listening to: Radiohead
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