December 13th, 2010: Everything is just so endlessly useless. What's even the point of doing anything at all? I love sex, and drinking, and drugs. Those things are pretty much the light of my life. But why should I even bother with any of it? We're all going to die anyway. People take that little statement so lightly these days. It has no weight anymore. But it's true. One day we will all die. It's strange to think about it, the fact that yes, soon, sooner than you think, you will blink out of existence. Just like that. Like a mistake you've written on a paper, that you just erase and never remember. Like a speck of dust that you flick away. People will give you the argument that if you try hard in life, in death you'll be remembered forever. But even they know that it's bullshit. Fact is, they're not going to remember you. No matter what the fuck you do, even if you're fucking Jesus or something, in a matter of years they'll forget about you. They might remember what you did, but that's all they'll remember you as. They won't think about your taste in music, or your desire to be on stage in front of screaming fans. They'll forget about your favorite food, your mannerisms, everything. Even your close friends and family are engineered to get over you when you die. They're supposed to forget you. Everyone is meant to forget you. There's nothing you can do about it. The earth will consume your body and then you'll be walked on by the future generations. They won't know who you are. They will never know who you are. And best of all, they won't even care.
December 14th, 2010: The entire issue of Marxism and the entire idea that it was like a pseudo-cure for the "illness" of capitalism really gets to me. Socialism is an economic system in which the government dictates prices and so the idea of profit motive ceases to exist. As much as someone works their ass off, they'll still get the same amount of money as the guy who does not that much work. And the way my history teacher worded it, it sounded like a pretty shit system. However, when you think about it, the system was to fix the vast disparity between rich and poor during the industrial revolution. In this system, if you were poor, you were pretty much screwed. Even if you worked hard all your life, if you were born poor, worked a job intended for the proletariat, and got a poor man's wage, there was virtually nothing you could do to move up in the world. And if you were rich chances were if you played your cards right you'd stay rich. So in the system of socialism, if you weren't a lazy cunt, it could work. If everyone worked hard at his or her own job, and everyone got the same amount of money, the theory was eventually the government would disappear. So in short the "process" of socialism is you have a feudalist community, which then undergoes an industrial revolution of sorts, throwing the entire community into an industrial capitalist society. The economic system created two classes, known as the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. As you can tell, this system is inherently unfair. Pretty much makes the rich richer and the poor poorer. But because of human nature, of humans' greed and laziness, Socialism, which was created to equalize the rich and the poor classes, would collapse under the peoples' laziness and the government's greed. Russia is a prime example of what not to do. My point is, if a system created to fix a shitty previous system is shitty in itself, and is shitty because humans make it so, what's even the point of trying? Humans will always want money without working for it. They'll all want to work less, earn more. Humans are devastatingly clever, but for all the wrong reasons. They found the loophole in the system and were horrible enough to use it. Which bothers me. Everyone's going on and on about how the world needs to change, how we need to use our natural "powers" for good. They all need to fucking shut up. Goddamn. I can't even talk about this anymore. Ughfhdhhshdhgfhs.
December 14th, 2010: I tried absinthe today. It made me see pretty lights and the snow became girls on fire. They are cleaning the floors in school today. The dirt and grime from the muddy grass outside became shiny, pretty cleanliness. The boy sitting in front of me is reading. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if he likes a girl, or a boy. I don't even know what book he's reading. Oh. He's putting all his things away. I hate it when I think people can read what I'm doing on the computer. It makes me really paranoid. It sucks. I don't want to deal with this paranoia. I can't wait until Friday. I want to have more sex. Oookay. I wonder what's going on that makes everything so exciting around here. Maybe there's a party.
December 20, 2010: I told him I was looking up ways to kill myself and we got into this enormous argument thing and he started crying and the entire time I thought to myself "I can't deal with this at all" and in my sadness ritual I took off my watch and all of my words were mostly "yes", "no" or "I don't know" and I feel so goddamn useless because he cares so much about me and I'm just… me. And my emotions are mostly superfluous. And cobwebby. 99% of them still need to be dusted off.
Fuck. I hate this.
Post Suicide Attempt
January 3, 2011: Depression's a funny thing. You find yourself at an impasse with your own mind, thinking all the time about how pathetic you are for being that sad, but eventually realizing that those thoughts make you even more sad and self-loathing. So you sit in your room, lost in your own mind and hoping that there's a way out. You lose your motivation to do anything. You start not giving a fuck about school, or friends, or whatever. You slowly learn to hate everyone and everything, becoming a bitter shell of what you used to be. You forget what it's like to love life. You are baffled by people with confidence, people who are glad they are who they are. You recede into your own self. And sometimes it all becomes so much that you have moments of sheer nihilism where you think, "There is no point in living. It is painful, it is useless. I am useless." and some go as far as to swallow the entirety of their medicine cabinet hoping that as a result the pain will end. However, some live and are hospitalized; put on antidepressants. They dope you up so much that you can't even function like a normal human being. And then after this people act like you're fragile, like anything they'll say will send you over the edge. They say they want to help. They act like you're a baby that needs constant watch. And when you're angry, they don't heed your warning to piss off, or I'll wring your neck. They stay and pester you until you explode. Then they sure feel proud of themselves after you've told them you want to change the subject, or you go away. They think they're heroes when they tell you not to drink or to take drugs, or not take your prescribed medicines for insomnia or depression. Well, they can go fuck themselves.
I still want to kill myself, and that's really bad. They told me if I have any suicidal thoughts that I'd have to call the psychiatrist and talk to them about it but if I did that they'd probably put me back in Madison 6 (mental ward I was in). Then again, if I keep going on this path, and I come to a point where I attempt suicide again, and in a more effective way, they'll definitely keep me there, and for more than a week. In fact, it'll probably be three weeks, minimum. I hate this so much. Why can't I just die quickly, and people wouldn't give that much of a shit? Whenever I think about this I feel lightheaded, like I've just slept a long time or something. Or I drank a hot beverage really quickly. I don't understand it. Wow, I really wish I could die. Or better yet I wish I had someone to talk to that didn't treat me like a baby. For a while that was Andrew but then he tried to kill himself and now he's back at Mad 6 so I can't talk to him, at all. I miss him. I wish he hadn't done what he did. But out of everything that he's ever asked me the thing I was most curious about was why he called me as opposed to his school friends, or a teacher, or his therapist. Did he really like me that much? And in his drunken stupor, I wish I knew whether he was being serious when he said he loved me. Not because I want to get with him, just because I'm curious. Curiosity never killed anyone, did it? God, I wish I could talk to him right now. I wish I could hug him again, tell him that he's amazing and one of the most sympathetic friends I've ever encountered, even if we only knew each other for a week. He was just so kind to me, when I know anyone else from school that knew me as much as he did would have shunned me. I don't even like him in the romantic way, it's just one of those friendships where you know no matter what happens, your connection inside is too strong to be broken by anything. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I love Andrew Martin. I love him and I cried when he tried to kill himself. I miss him with every fiber of my being and when he gets out I will shower him with love and affection, the kind he deserves.
I don't know what Alessandro would think about all this. Would he be jealous or would he trust me? I told him Andrew's gay, which was a lie I fabricated to make sure Ale wouldn't think anything happened at the ward, which it didn't. I mean, on the phone I talked about him a lot, how cute and awesome he was. I'm surprised Alessandro doesn't want to kill him yet, especially after I had that fit the day after he tried to off himself. I mean, I love Ale, I don't know what I'd do without him. But recently I feel like my depression had deteriorated him in the most unpleasant way, and I am racked with guilt for it. The therapist he talked to was right, unfortunately. I am selfish. When I do self-destructive things I never think about how Ale will feel. He didn't cry for 5 years before he met me. Now every time I do something wrong he's bawling his eyes out. All my tears, however, are used up like in a drought. I've cried too much to cry again. The last time I cried (except yesterday) was for Skye in August and even then, they were pretty scarce. I'm curious as to why Alessandro doesn't want to kill Skye for what he did to me. Jesus Christ, that sounded selfish. I mean, if he cares about me all that much why doesn't he do anything to Skye? Oh, never mind, he's a lover, not a fighter. I love Alessandro. I do. With every fiber of my being. But I always feel like I'm not enough, or when I am, I'm hurting him. I can't bear hurting him. The fact that I know I do makes me so upset. It's disgusting. I love him I love him I love him. He's kind to me, he's sweet, he's everything I ever wanted… then why am I still sad? Is there any way I can be happy with my life, ever? I haven't been happy since I was 11. And that was a long time ago. 5 years. So it's been 5 years of pain and suffering, emotional rollercoasters that I'm not allowed to get off of, and hideous self-loathing thoughts. 5 years. How could I bear it? How could I live in that misery for 5 years, up until December 21st, 2010? How? I guess they don't want me to know, but the Prozac isn't helping as of yet. I still don't get sleep. I refused to take my sleeping medicine last night and I woke up slightly dead. It's hateful and hideous I don't want to live like this anymore. I hope I die soon. I wish you all well. One day I'll write a proper suicide note, all pretty and nice. It'll tell you exactly why I'm doing it and I'll write like Virginia Woolf.