I don't know what to do.  lost numb

For the last four weeks I've needed to be both drunk and high to fall asleep.  I've been cutting more frequently and deeper than ever.  I take my medication with alcohol.  I'm an alcoholic.  I'm now bulimic too.  As of friday I lost over 15 lbs.  At least that feels good.

I think we're breaking up.  We've already started using the past tense.  I don't know if I can be alone right now.  I'm finally older than Nick was when he died.  And to top that I'm dealing with a break up of the only other person who's understood me and finals.  I'm really glad the sleeping pills kicked in so fast.  No worries; it's not a lethal dose.  I'm just really fucking light-headed.  Obviously not enough for really, really basic grammar though…

Fuck.  It's really stupid that they sensor swear words.  Do they really think that people who are depressed are offended by the word fuck?  Or shit?  Hell VIGINA.  Deal with it.  They exist; might as well get use to it now.

I can't speak for everyone, but I feel like I could have avoided the worst parts of my genetic depression if my parents had just taught me how to deal with the emotions that come with big fucking things like sex and trauma.  I probably still would have been depressed, but on the level that my mom is.  I could take some pills, believe that everything was alright because that's what everyone around me spouted and been ok with an occasional relapse every few months. 

But no.  I was not taught how to deal with shit.  (Thank you, Western Society.  You suck.)  Add that to being molested/almost raped the first time you're kissed and the fact that the first person you trust since then commits suicide…  Ok, I admit up front that I don't blame any of it on myself, but that just means I had no fucking control over any of it.  If the same stuff starts happening again, I can't change my fucking actions and hope for something different.  No; just let life fuck with you again.

I'm not admitting that I have it worse than anyone else.  God knows J has been through far worse than I have.  That doesn't mean I can deal with shit though.  He's better at hiding it.  He's better at accepting it.  Hell, he's the only person I know who'll flat out admit that he's having a hard time when people see his self-induced scars and tell him to get help.  I wish I could do that; it seems to throw everyone off just enough that they leave you the fuck alone. 

Speaking of which, for the first time the fresh cuts on my wrist might actually scare someone.  They're not deep enough to be fatal if left alone.  I'd have to put them under running water for them to do any real damage.  I still stick to my previous thoughts of cutting: I like the scars but I like the cuts more.  I love the feel of blood dripping down my skin and I'm finally becoming accustomed to the fact that it falls onto my clothes and my sheets as well.  (Thank you, Oxiclean.)  I love feeling pain every time I put on a jacket or a pair of pants.  I love running my fingers over the raised, irritated skin before the cut turns into a scar.  I wish I could tattoo all my cuts onto my skin, but it never looks as good and there's no permanent irritation.

Hmm…  The cuts made 15 minutes ago are deeper than ever.  Not as deep as I always hope, but I'm working on it.  J's are hella deep.  Even though I'm technically older, he has at least 10 years of life experience more than I do.  His cuts should be deeper.  One day I'll either do like Nick and just finally die, or I'll get as deep as J.  Lucky anyone who ever claimed to give half a shit about me, I plan on taking my life by cutting my wrists or jumping off a high balcony instead of shooting myself.  And yes, I am just enough of a control freak that I plan on taking my own life.  Why should I let cancer or a heart attack do it when I can plan it myself?  …I do half hope that the car won't actually stop when I cross the street, but that's letting Fate decide, isn't it?

Fuck.  Enough of scaring those of you who still believe that there's something to life.  I shouldn't fight sleeping pills for too long or they stop working and that would just be a fucking shame.  I don't take them that often, but I love the dream-less almost death-like sleep they give me.  I hope death is just as dream-less.  J has legally died twice and confirmed that death is like a dream-less sleep; I hope he's actually right.


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