Today bred new life in my room, but no epiphanies. I've rearranged my furniture to suit...whatever it is my subconscious wants, I guess. Does anyone know? None of my doctors seem to. Getting a little government funding is currently on the top of my to-do list, but even that seems like it would be an empty gesture made at the summation of my life. My therapist and my girl have told me more or less the same things: Don't worry about money, you're supposed to be in debt. After all, you're an American student. It would appear the judgment of my ability to qualify for SSI is split about 50/50. About half my friends want me to go for it. At the moment my headshrinkers are split. I don't think Dr. Horwitz realizes how very suicidal I am. Maybe it's because I don't do the "cry for help" attempts like most do. If and when I decide to end my life it won't be refutable. It will be direct and quick. A combination of methods, as I've always known. First I slit one wrist deep. Then I take a bunch of pills. Then the other wrist. Then I jump off of a medium height building. The SCSU student center or library would be preferable.
I promised Jessica that I wouldn't cut, and I've been 99% true to this. When shaving my hands my knuckles opened up, but I didn't slice or anything. I just shaved a bit too hard. Pain has never stopped me from accomplishing a goal before. It hurt, but I needed to shave them, just like the rest of my hands. I guess it still kinda counts, but it wasn't my original intent with the razors. At least I don't think it was.
Still, I want so very much to open up an arm today. My right arm, yes.Right on the bicep muscle. It would allow me to feel something. This week my emotions have been rather understated or even shut off. It's frustrating. Only certain people have gotten anything from me. For the most part I've been humorously getting by but without any inclination as to how or why. Certain people have evoked...things in me, though.
The wench for one. I'm still always looking out for her, and I hate myself for doing it. And I find myself upset with her for allowing it, and then for being around me. Then, here's the kicker, despite all the pain from both of us and the fact that I am no longer a calculating monstrous man, she won't acknowledge that I'm trying to help. It's as insulting as what motivated me to torture her in the first place: the lack of consideration; the acknowledgment of my feelings and my intent.
I know nothing will ever happen, I knew that back when she dumped Kukla. And furthermore, I'm with Jess, and if there's one thing I'm not, it's unfaithful. Whether for good or ill I am loyal to a fault. But now that I've given up on my quest of removing her entirely, an endeavor which ultimately failed when I succumbed to guilt, of all things, I'm left with this: I care deeply like a sibling for her and only want her to be happy.
She should have figured that out when I threatened Dante back at the start of their relationship. Out of chivalry, out of honor, out of responsibility like I would make the same gesture toward either of my own sister's suitors.
But today, like she always has, she ran off and left me to my own devices.
And speaking of girl problems, Stephanie made the rather unsettling accusation today that I've no desire to be cured of either my mental disease or my eating disorder. One of which I am working on, the other which I cannot say. I try to count calories but without Xanax or obsessive exercise to lean on the hunger is harder to ignore with bottled water and sheer will. Do I want to lose weight? Of course I do, I hate myself. No metaphor or hyperbole needed, it's what it is. I hate myself. Always have. I enjoy the time I'm spending here on earth and i try to have fun, but if I back up and look at myself from a Saint Peter perspective I absolutely crave the flame.
I didn't feel anger at Steph for the accusation or guilt toward myself for it being true. I don't really know either way. I did feel distress, anxiety, panic, and I took a Seroquel as soon as I got home.
Jess must be suffering because I'm such a wreck. I know she loves me, and I'm still under the understanding that I love her, according to the last time I was able to even remotely understand my head and what it's trying to say to me. God, I feel dyslexic when I contemplate my own thoughts. If I'm hurting you somehow babe, I'm really sorry. I'm trying my best to not be a bastard anymore. To anyone, but especially not to the people who care about me. And that list just keeps shrinking so I ought to make an effort to at least maintain the status quo.
I don't know what more to say right now, but there'll probably be more soon.
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