It’s a nice cool cloudy morning — or rather midday — and I can’t get out of bed. I should have awoken at 6:30am to get to my 9 am class on philosophy. I did wake up but the prospects of taking a bus for 1h40min, sitting in lecture for 2hrs then having a nap/lunch break, then going to another lecture for 2 hrs and then right after a third one for 2hrs. Also IJ planned a study group for our midterm tomorrow…. I just can’t.

I can’t. I did yesterday. I went and pretended that everything was fine. But I fucking can’t. The thought of going outside petrifies me. I can’t sit myself and concentrate. I have to study. I have to get to class. I have to get a grip on myself. I have to and I can’t. I know if I make myself go outside, I will break down in tears on the street. I know because I’ve tried it. All of this makes me very anxious, exacerbating the situation. Now I can’t calm down and relax to do even the simplest things.

I’m freaking out. On the previous midterm I got a B, so I have to do very well on this one. I have to get an A in that class because it’s important for my major. I feel the same way as last November.

Veteran’s day 2008. I stayed at home instead of going to the library to study. I know very well I can’t study at home. It was a Tuesday too. I had midterms the next day and on Thursday. I can’t describe how I felt. The same way I feel now. I also went online looking for help and spend the entire day in a Self-Injury Chat instead of studying. A person there suggested calling for professional help. I did, getting as far a voicemail which was never returned. The next day, after the first exam to which I was an hour late, as I was walking home from the bus stop, I suddenly broke down and started crying right in the middle of the parking lot. I don’t remember my train of thoughts: I only remember waiting for a miraculous phone call — for somebody, anybody — just to ask me how I was. I was waiting for him to call, or even my mom. But the phone never rang. And the thought of complete and utter abandonment crushed me to dust. I went home, packed my pills and razors, and went to bed. The next morning I woke up very calm. My head was clear and thoughtless. I had a goal to take the last exam and go on with my death.

I know that thoughts of death calm me. When I’ve made the decision, I can finally relax.

The possibility of repeating the same scenario petrifies me. I’m really really scared. People advise me to talk. Who can I talk to? What would I tell? "Mommy, I want to kill myself"? "I can’t deal with life’s pressure because I’m a pathetic weak human being, so now you have to deal with me and my whining"?