Try a new drinks recipe site
Scars Talk To Me
"A Comet Appears" by The Shins
[Still my favorite song by this band]
We can blow on our thumbs and posture,
But the lonely is such delicate things,
The wind from a wasp could blow them,
Into the sea,
With stones on their feet,
Lost to the light and the loving we need,
Still to come,
The worst part and you know it,
There is a numbness,
In your heart and it's growing,
"New Slang" by The Shins
Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth
Only, I don't know how they got out, dear
Turn me back into the pet I was when we met
I was happier then with no mind-set
Sunday, June 29, 2014 3:38 PM
[I talk about my boobs in this entry. It's a weird turn from all these sad thoughts.]
It's not getting better, yet. I say yet because I'm not an idiot (not saying people who don't know that "it will get better" are stupid -- I'm saying that I'd be stupid if I didn't know by now). I've been through this before, I'm familiar with the whole "it will get better" but I believe I'm in "first it'll get worse" stage. Hooray. Fucking yay.
Can you tell I'm in a terrible mood?
My dad is back. He brought home a t-shirt with the TARDIS on it. He knows very well that I love Doctor Who. He more appreciates The Lord of The Rings and Star Wars, but respects my somewhat second-rate fandoms.
Even though I love him, I've never felt as close to him as I do to my mother. I think it's because my mother has my problems -- the emotional ones. My dad, he knows depression well and he's very smart (which I'm hoping he passed on to me), but he has trouble understanding other people like I do.
I wish I could fall apart. I forgot how? I've considered cutting myself several times today already. I forgot how to tell my parents I wasn't okay, though. I just assume that they'll get it when I'm angry for no reason and when I cry over the internet being down. Contrary to what my dad thinks, I wouldn't actually do that if I were feeling fine, haha.
Why does my writing sound so aloof and cold and far away to me right now? The way I'm writing makes me feel like I'm one of those satirical narrators in one of those classic stories they have us read in English. Apparently, I'm the only one in class who actually enjoys reading those.
Anyway, yeah. Even though I feel my emotional pain PHYSICALLY in every fucking corner of my body, my writing makes me wonder if sometimes my brain detaches itself from my meltdowns.
I mean, I recall one of my extremely depressed breakdowns, I punched my mirror, which was already cracked, and broke it even more. When I wrote about it, it was like my conscience was floating away from everything that had happened. I was watching from space, and at the same time through my eyes.
My hands aren't shaking because of caffeine, they are shaking because I'm so, so not okay.
I want to talk to my friends but I loathe feeling like a burden. If I'm now sad EVERY SINGLE DAY, then I'm going to be bothering them every day. Since I know some of them had problems with depression, what if I bring them down? What if in order to save themselves, they let me go? What do I do?
I hate myself! I don't want to. I hate looking in the mirror. Honestly, I only like my boobs right now. I think they got bigger.
I've weighed like 119 pounds for a month now (gross, fucking gross. I miss being 108. I miss being 112. I miss anything below this nasty weight. I'm not fat, I'm the same size as Lily, but her weight is distributed really nicely and mine, not so much).
This bra is awesome. It really makes my cleavage look awesome, haha. I feel good about that.
The rest, though? Nahhh.
My stomach hurts. I feel really ugly. I feel worthless. Worthless because even though I love who I am, I'm starting to be this terribly depressed girl who is needy and clingy. I hate that. I'm now in constant need of company because when I'm alone, I feel empty. When I'm WITH PEOPLE I FEEL EMPTY. It's better than silently stewing in my own shit feelings, though.
I can't stand up on my own. That's so fucking crappy. Could this be the medication? I'm on 100 mg of Seroquel now. I got depressed before I was even off the Wellbutrin so I don't know.
I'll go now. I don't mean to be sad, or to cause sadness. I don't want to trigger, I swear. I'm sorry I'm this way. I really wish I wasn't. I really wish I didn't cause myself pain.
My old scars are talking to me. I think I might go draw. Something, anything to take me away from this beautiful world that seems to be boxing me out.
Want some cocktail tips? Try some drinks recipes over here