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2017-01-06 16:20:58 (UTC)

Again and again and again and again and again and ...

"Whenever You See Fit" by Modest Mouse & 764-Hero [early autumn is always Built to Spill, mid-winter is always some kind of Modest Mouse]

And you'll wake up early and you'll live to regret
And you'll wake up early and you'll live to regret
And you'll wake up early and you'll live to regret
And you'll wake up early and you'll live to regret
And you'll wake up early and you'll live to regret
And you'll wake up early again.

January 6, 2016 Friday 4:26 PM

I know it's kind of cheesy, but this song sounds kind of like depression. To be fair, a lot of Modest Mouse's song give off that vibe. Disillusionment, apathy, a feeling like you're just kind of going through the motions. It's the repetition, I think – that mimics the repetitiveness of depression a bit. Over and over and over again, it comes and it goes and you have to wake up no matter what. All that stupid stuff.
The other one is Dramamine... that song has a similar feel. Interstate 8, that one too. Edit the Sad Parts.. duh. Okay. Music talk is over. I will stop.

Except for depression talk isn't over, because the period of Stupidness isn't over. In fact, it started in late November and hasn't left me since.

Sometimes I wanna kill myself just to spite people. Like, fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck. I'm tired.

Other times I want other people to die. So I can rest.

Always, I want to disappear. I can handle the things that are outside of Real Life. But I can't be around other people.

Huh. This background – whatever surface the book behind these words is laying on – looks kind of like a fingerprint.

I am going to pull my strings out and cut them off one by one until I'm nothing but a pile of polyester. No longer in any shape, no longer with any meaning. Take my old parts and use them for something new. I dunno. Just take them away.

Hate, hate, hate. A very intense hatred. I hate my thoughts. I hate my sounds. I hate my writing. Shit, I hate the e. coli producing vitamin K in my gut just for being a part of the community that is my body. I want to tell people that I hate myself. I want to tell them so bad, like, I fucking hate me. So it's okay if you hate me too, I really won't mind, I understand.

They probably don't hate me. They'd probably hate me if they read this, though. All my angst. The closest thing to my actual brain – that is what this diary is. It is a compilation of so many moments. I mean, a small fraction of my life and thoughts. I can't be writing constantly, as much as I'd like to. But it's enough, right? Enough for what? What?

I don't know why I hate me. Is it because I think I'm better than everyone else?

It's like I expect myself to be more than human. No, Veronica, you're not allowed to get sad. You're not allowed to succumb to your sadness. You're not allowed to be wrong or stupid, you're not allowed to make mistakes at all, you're not allowed to care about puny human problems, because you are not them. It's okay if they mess up, have bad thoughts, whatever.
But you can't, because you're supposed to be better than that – better than them. Always ahead.

This makes me feel shittier. I mean, not really. When I look at it, I don't feel much of anything. I know it's true, but I've known it's true for so long that it has kind of lost its impact. It's force of habit, now, to just berate myself this way. I dunno how else to go about living. It's not like I am exactly in total control here, anyways. Sometimes the thoughts surface without reason. And I always have this lingering bad taste, a sense like something awful happened earlier in the day. Everything cast in shadow.

You know what else makes me feel "terrible"? (Everything – literally everything)

That I could maybe change this if I tried hard enough.

The other day, Adrian (he shaved his beard and it's starting to grow back. I like the look) told me he didn't talk to himself in his head. I told him I do it all the time. A few minutes later, he said, "Oh, that's right. I used to talk to myself, but then I'd get really depressed, so I stopped."

"You made yourself stop? Just like that?" I asked.

"Yeah, well, it was hard, but I stopped."

And I don't understand that. I must be doing something wrong. I don't know why I can't just be positive like other people. I feel like poison. I sort of take offense when someone else is happy, because I'm not. Which is shitty. I can't stop it. I force myself to try and feel happy for them, though. I have ta remind myself that it has nothing to do with me.

On the outside, I appear all right (I think). I have an easy time talking and laughing. I do my homework. I slip sometimes, say something stupid, but that is OK! Self, it's fine. You are fine.

When I get home, I'm kind of a wreck, usually. Yesterday, my mom was talking to me while I was trying to eat, and I burst out crying. She was telling me about someone having died of cancer, I think, and then she started talking about world issues. I just lost it, and told her to please stop talking to me, I couldn't stand it – I couldn't think.

I felt it. I felt the pent-up energy, and I knew I hurt her feelings, but aside from those two things, I didn't really feel anything. I was thinking about how I had a headache, and how I wasn't really tasting the food (which is cliché, but it happened okay), and how I didn't really want to be crying. I just wanted to watch The Office so I could stop having thoughts. Being rational over all that noise? All the thoughts screaming, hey you did this wrong, you did that wrong, you're exhausted, you'll never get this done on time, why are you such an awful daughter, you should be a better daughter, I'm too tired to be a better daughter, that's just an excuse because you're selfish, get off your ass, do your work, you don't have time for this–

Gotta drown it out. I can't think, can't think, can't think. It's too much. Maybe I can ask for brain surgery. "Just clean out all the shit," I'll say, "It's jammed in the cracks, probably, and it keeps spreading everywhere!"

My dad has also received a lot of shitty-ness from my direction. I am caustic. I used that word earlier today to describe someone else– but yes. That's how I am with my dad. Easily anger, incredibly bitter, sarcastic, oh you name it. I'm awful and he gets angry, but not as angry as he deserves to be. I am so prepared to hurt someone.

School is the only thing that makes sense. It is overwhelming, extremely overwhelming, to the point that I want to be very angry at all school officials – but I can't be, because like everything that happens to me, this is my fault. It could have been prevented. I could be okay, but I am not. So now I just have to deal with it quietly and hope it goes away soon.


I have a hard time sleeping. I wake up every few hours, usually. I have slept through the night twice this week, and I was still tired in the morning... I regain some energy and then it's gone by noon. Huh. Maybe that's what that song means, the one by Waxahatchee – "Stale by noon." It takes me a long time to fall asleep too. Less, lately, because I started listening to this stupid delta wave thing in the hopes that it'd kill the thoughts that keep me awake. It operates at a certain level, gets rid of some of those things. Other stuff remains – bad memories, video and audio on repeat. I just focus on a fake scenario, make up a story in my head. A world with, like. Strangers. All around. Sometimes bad memories (and good ones, other times) draw my attention. But I always bring it back to the fake world. And I focus on that until I drop out of existence.


Hmm. Oh. I had a realization a few days ago, which is that I sometimes hate myself around Adrian. Well. I hate myself a lot. But especially around him, okay. I want to spit out every single word I speak. I want to puke up my guts. I want to tear off my skin, get some space between me and my body.

I dunno what it is. I think it's that I talk and, to myself, I sound like I know what I am talking about when I'm actually positive I don't know anything at all and I want to slit my throat for who he thinks I am, and for who I actually am. God, that sounds dramatic! Hah. I just get so mad. I am not who he thinks I am, whoever that is. I wish I was someone else entirely. I am not that person for some reason. I dunno, this is still pretty murky.

I just know I don't like myself when he's there (some of the time). And I shut off.

The same is true for Isaac. I saw him in the hall today and he said hello. I said hello back. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple days. I asked Lily, who was walking alongside me, "Does he look sad?"

And she was like, "I think that's kinda just his face." Then she bought me hot chocolate because Lily is lovely and I hated myself for being around her, because I guess my mind thinks I'm dirty or something. I wish I would snap out of it. I am fine. I'm a decent person and people like me. I am pretty creative, and I am lucky when it comes to school. I've had amazing opportunities and it has been so easy for me (compared to other people I mean).

Ignoring all this, brain says I am stupid and worthless and I get tired of battling it.

But I guess back to Isaac, just because I wanted to say that I miss him but I still can't look him in the eye. I don't know what it is. It was like that with Adrian for awhile. But now he keeps his distance, physically, and it's a little better. When he's closer, sitting right next to me when we talk, so that our knees touch – it makes me want to die. I want to crawl out of my mouth, eject, get out of this situation. Not because of him! I like him. He's warm. I just don't belong there. I am not right.

Last year, we used to kind of tangle our legs together. Platonic closeness I guess. I was all over Liv too. But I am distanced from pretty much everyone now (in both senses of the word). I mostly only touch/hang out with the cats, haha. I don't even like hugging or talking to my parents anymore.

What annoyed me about Isaac is that he kept trying to get me to talk. I don't want to talk. It doesn't help to talk. In fact, it's worse. I get punished for talking. It will be temporary relief and then a bit later, I will feel ashamed for admitting anything. I've been avoiding Peer Leadership for that reason. Can't do the talking, not unless I am calm enough to balance my words, so that whoever I am talking to will realize that I know I am being Stupid. Sorry for that awful sentence. Sorry for all my awful sentences, actually, haha. Structure-wise, is what I mean. <<< example

Point is, if I say I'm stupid, then I've said it before you could. If I tell myself to snap out of it, if I try to be rational, well – no one can say I've been blind. I am blind. But I will pretend I'm not.

I like how I wanted to talk about Isaac but instead I talked a bunch about myself. And when I say "I like how" I really mean that it's typical and I'm annoyed with myself. I, I, I. Me, me, me. Shut up.


Miss my sister. She is sick somewhere across the river, I think. Yesterday I started crying because I thought she was dead. It was the kind of fantasy I indulge in when I'm in a bad mood, hoping for sleep. Then she texted me and I was disappointed that she was still there. I love her and I know that that disappointment doesn't mean I want her to die.


Peel me off.