i'm trying to fight depression but it's like really warm sinking sand and it's just so nice to stop fighting and sink.. it doesn't feel great to feel awful. it's just a release to stop pretending to myself that i feel fine.

it's coming out in little ways. i'm eating a lot, and then eating nothing, very spasmodic, if that's a word. i'm snapping at everyone and trying to cover it up by saying it's a joke. it's not a joke, it's nastiness, and it's not meant specifically against anyone. it's just nastiness. venting my spleen. lovely.

feel so sad.

really not looking forward to the gig tomorrow. don't want to go anywhere. just want to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. i feel so trapped by all the money it's costing to see a band, when its supposed to be a good thing that we're getting in free. the costs just keep mounting. i can't take it.

14-15 quid return on the train. 8 quid supposedly in a shelter. imagine if we had to pay ticket as well, it'd be fucking getting on for 35 + quid for one evening out. makes my head hurt. as it is, am i grateful that it's only 23 quid? no! not at all! i do want to go, but not that much, jesus christ! staying in a SHELTER? and paying 8 quid? in middlesbrough? well, uh, wow, gee, great.

sigh.

that's not fair. it's backstage passes, and guestlist, and, yey. gig. music.

but i have no money for drink. fee says that'll be free for us, but i'm really doubting that. i hate owing people money. i love seeing music live, but if i can't afford it, the money aspect overshadows the whole thing. i've always been so paranoid about money.

in simpleton terms: i'm going to the gig, because i want to. but i'm going to be uncomfortable because of the money. it's no biggie. it just makes me itch a little inside.

there. i sort of had to reign that rant in a bit because i know fee [hi, fee] would get the wrong idea - i doooo want to go but i just don't like owing money, don't think i don't want to go.

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warning, ladies and gentlemen: i'm coming to the end of my tether. the very slippery end. its time to do something self-destructive. i can't think of anything except cutting in both the right places. but i don't want to do that.

well. not today.

it's quite a while since my last suicide attempt, though, and that one was because of my AS exams. how about the next one be because i'm getting Es on essays that i work hard on ...

i'm so pathetic.

i used to be good at things.

i told my father that i got an E on my history essay and just started crying right there. so pointless. i couldn't even hold it together to finish talking. just started crying. he was staring at me like i'd grown a second head.

no cutting any more, my fucking ARSE.

where are my fucking blades. time to do some fucking serious fucking DAMAGE.

FUCKING STUPID CAGE OF A BODY. YOU FUCKING FAT CAGE OF STUPIDITY, YOU'LL PAY.

fuck..

i'm so fucking sad..

and i'm not even pretty enough for it to be okay.

eeeesh really strong urge to slit wrists. yaaar no. not going to . not again. fucking hell. not until i reach 70lb. five stone. next march, people. i'll be that. for now, deadline is christmas, where i'll be seven stone. ooooooh feel the bones.

i know i'll do it. the whole point of moving out is to be able to fast.

and this time i won't break my fast if i'm asked to nicely.

sorry, people.

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i'm going to have to look for a job in york soon. i can't rely on fee for a floor to sleep on every weekend. i need to get a job at mcdonalds or something in york - not AGAIN - lol oh the same old thing. hey they employed me before, what's to say they won't again? heh.

yeah. what am i still doing here. i dont deserve to be here.

im going to go hurt myself now.

okay?

baby it feels like we're running out of time...

2002-10-01 - 9:36 p.m.
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