One

It's going to be ok but there's no reason it'll be ok, Mom wasn't ok. What if I don't ever want to feel better. I know this, I want pain, I want to hurt, I want to be ripped in half broken at my breast bone or stabbed just beneath it, My mind moves faster than my pen. I couldn't even speak as fast as I think, Marissa made me try and I couldn't, I can't do anything but I can do lots of things I can write and do art and I'm smart and I got almost all A's why do I feel like a failure? I'm not doing enough, it's never enough, I could do so much more, I could be great but I'm wasting my life wasting my time being sad because I like the pain, I want the pain. I want a reason. I want it to go away but I still want it here, how can it go away if I still want it. No wonder meds and therapy haven't worked. It'll never work as long as I want it and the desire wont go away. Blank. Nothing. It all stopped. How long have I been writing. Only 5 minutes. Poor Lu. He can't help me but he still tries and it makes me sad. Just told him about wanting it and how it'll never go away and it hurts because I know my friends want to help me and want it to go away but it never will. Not only do I fail but I drag others down with me. Like Alex though I don't feel bad for him, that was largely his fault though - shit what was I gonna say. Oh. I can see why he didn't want to and really couldn't be with me, why would anyone want to be with me, be around me, talk to me. But people do, Lu does Beth does Engels does though he's probably just using me for sex. But maybe I like that, do I like that? It's not healthy if I do like that. Nothing about me is healthy, is anyone truly healthy? Probably not. Am I any less healthy than everyone else? If I die, yes, but will it ever actually get to that or am I just crying for attention. I have attention, I don't need depression to get it but I feel like I do, is that because of mom, because she was sad? I'll never know, I'll never have the chance to know her. There's so much I would have asked . I'm never gonna be able to read any of this am I. Do I even want to? How will it help if I can't read it back, this is supposed to clear my thoughts. It at least keeps them on one track kind of but I'll never actually know what that track is if I can't fucking read this. But my mind is always running too fast, I can't write it all down as I think it. Blank again. How long will it last. How long have I been writing now, 14 minutes it seems. Half way. Am I gonna show this to Beth? Would be weird since I talk about her in it. Maybe something like this would help Kieran, though it would probably just confuse him more. My thoughts are hell but I don't even know what hell is, I'm a spoiled suburban white girl with everything just handed to her.  I don't deserve to feel sad, I don't deserve to seek help. And why should anyone give a fuck about me anyway, even friends. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. I'd say I have insomnia but I'm just self diagnosing more fucking problems for attention. I make myself sick. But does self diagnosing problems mean I have a real problem? What even constitutes a real problem, How am I supposed to know that. Hurting myself and wanting pain is probably a real problem. Where does that even come from. I think I'm periodically forgetting to breathe as I'm doing this. I wonder why. Is it anxiety? stress? anger perhaps? though over what I couldn't say. Myself. I'm angry at myself for being me, for failing, for not living up to my potential and for not belonging. I feel alien always, I never have belonged in a social group. Even amongst close friends I don't belong. I see myself in a mirror and wonder what I'm doing there, who is that, who am I, why am I different, I'm just like everyone else but at the same time I'm not, I wanna be special but don't we all? I don't deserve that, few do, that's what actually makes them special. I'm normal. Can I still have problems if I'm normal? Blank. Breathe. 22 minutes down. It's odd how my mind shifts from internal to external and back and forth day in and day out. what even is a mind, how can I think about myself. look at me getting all philosophical as if I can solve mysteries that have been pondered for centuries. Who do I think I am, I am no one, nothing. I'm smarter than some but not smart enough. I'll never stand out in the world, nor should I, I don't deserve that. The vast majority of people don't. People are pigs, animals, nothing, specks of dust floating through Time and space. Doctor Who creeping into my mind and I remember when he said that in all his 900 years never has he met someone who isn't important. Maybe I am important but I don't deserve to be, not with my depression. I don't deserve to be sad, I have no reason to be sad. I should be fine, everyone expects me to just be fine. Am I fine? Am I just exaggerating? It doesn't feel like I am when I want to be ripped in half but. But nothing. Blank. Breathe. I think I'm done.