Sounds like the most pathetic song title ever.
But it's true. I don't know why but if I ever have an emotion, it's usually sadness. I mean, sure, I'm happy sometimes. Last night I was fucking ecstatic. But usually, I find something wrong with the situation, and I just get sad.
I can barely sleep either. I've started taking melatonin to help me fall asleep, and it works (it better, seeing as it's extra-strength), but it's created a new problem of staying asleep. And no matter how long I sleep, I'm still tired. In May 2007, I woke up one morning feeling totally refreshed and ready to start my day, and I remember it because it's the only good night's sleep I've ever had.
I've been home from university for six days now. In that time, I've talked to my best friend from there once. We usually talk all the time, but he hasn't answered me since. I can only hope his phone's broken and he just forgot to inform me. But, as always, I've assumed the worst, and in this case, the worst is that he's realised he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore and he's done with the friendship.
I don't think I'll be surprised if this turns out to be reality. We'll be going into different programs next year and I know we'll drift apart and eventually stop talking altogether. I guess that's come early. I figured it would happen. It happened with all my old friends, and it'll happen with my new ones. Unfortunately.
I feel like I'm not meant to keep friends for a long time. I've only kept a few friendships over the years. Most people seem to just come into and leave my life. Which is fine, I guess. I can't change that. No matter how hard I try to keep a friendship, I'll make them mad at me, or annoy them, and they just won't want to put up with me anymore. That's fine. It's completely justified.
I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that he doesn't like me anymore, and cherish the months we had together.
Thursday 12 December 2013
Tuesday 5 November 2013
first post
One week, two days, twenty hours, and twenty-two minutes.
That's how long it's been since Margot showed up to my dorm and told me I was going to the hospital.
I guess, even now, I still haven't fully realised the severity of a suicide attempt. I don't realise how serious it is that I tried to kill myself. In all honesty, I thought of it as just another Saturday night. But I'm wrong.
I like to think about what would've happened had I gone through with it. Had I actually taken the Tylenol instead of emailing my Acting professor. Would people have worried? Probably, a couple days later when I wasn't in class. Would people have come to my room to see if I was alright? I don't think so, I rarely get surprise visitors. Would anyone had busted down my locked door to find my unconscious (or dead) body? I have no idea. I don't really know how it feels to have people that concerned about me.
I hate to say it, but no one really seems to care anymore. The Monday after the incident, everyone who knew asked me how I was doing. They talked to me about it. They told me they would always be there for me. But it's been a while. I guess they think I'm fine now. That I'm over it. I'm sad to say I'm not. Not at all. I think about what happened every day, and even though I don't realise how serious the consequences could have been, I know enough to know it's not something one would easily recover from. Experiences like that take a long time to heal, and I need people to help me through it. I don't know if people don't care anymore, or if they're uncomfortable with having a suicidal friend, but I just need someone. I don't care if they don't know what to say or do. At the end of the day, I just need someone to hug me and tell me I'm going to be fine.
I'm going to be fine.
My friends love me.
I have so much support here.
Why is that so hard for me to believe? Maybe my expectations are too high. Probably the result of my dreams. One night, before that Saturday, I had a dream that I was having a horrible day, and there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find one of my friends, with his bags, ready to stay with me through the night. Obviously, I've learned not to expect too much of people. I definitely don't expect people to take hour-long bus rides just to surprise me with their presence on a bad night. I just wish people would show me that they care.
That's how long it's been since Margot showed up to my dorm and told me I was going to the hospital.
I guess, even now, I still haven't fully realised the severity of a suicide attempt. I don't realise how serious it is that I tried to kill myself. In all honesty, I thought of it as just another Saturday night. But I'm wrong.
I like to think about what would've happened had I gone through with it. Had I actually taken the Tylenol instead of emailing my Acting professor. Would people have worried? Probably, a couple days later when I wasn't in class. Would people have come to my room to see if I was alright? I don't think so, I rarely get surprise visitors. Would anyone had busted down my locked door to find my unconscious (or dead) body? I have no idea. I don't really know how it feels to have people that concerned about me.
I hate to say it, but no one really seems to care anymore. The Monday after the incident, everyone who knew asked me how I was doing. They talked to me about it. They told me they would always be there for me. But it's been a while. I guess they think I'm fine now. That I'm over it. I'm sad to say I'm not. Not at all. I think about what happened every day, and even though I don't realise how serious the consequences could have been, I know enough to know it's not something one would easily recover from. Experiences like that take a long time to heal, and I need people to help me through it. I don't know if people don't care anymore, or if they're uncomfortable with having a suicidal friend, but I just need someone. I don't care if they don't know what to say or do. At the end of the day, I just need someone to hug me and tell me I'm going to be fine.
I'm going to be fine.
My friends love me.
I have so much support here.
Why is that so hard for me to believe? Maybe my expectations are too high. Probably the result of my dreams. One night, before that Saturday, I had a dream that I was having a horrible day, and there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find one of my friends, with his bags, ready to stay with me through the night. Obviously, I've learned not to expect too much of people. I definitely don't expect people to take hour-long bus rides just to surprise me with their presence on a bad night. I just wish people would show me that they care.
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