566

[saitaina]

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Mum’s still at her friend’s, they’re ‘holding her hostage’ until they’re sure she’s not going off the deep end again.

It’s…easier then when she’s in the hospital. I can see her for one thing, and for another she’s surounded by people who actually give a damn about her life. Plus she doesn’t want to commit suicide around a friend (though she’s willing to do it around me…fucked up shit there).

I’m trying to keep my head straight during this. It’s hard though, we just recently switched my anti-depressants so my head isn’t in a good space as it is, and then this…

I’m wearing two band-aides on my wrists to keep me from doing stupid shit (It’s harder to cut through band-aides then it is actual flesh.

I tried slitting my wrists last night. No idea what the fuck I was thinking. I was either having an emo moment or a sucide attempt but either way it didn’t work. I was too out of it on sleeping pills to do more then scratch myself.

I feel so absolutely worthless right now. Mum keeps blaming me for her being depressed (me being constantly sick is apparently at the root of all her problems, because I stay in bed all day), I’m depressed about my writing, and I feel as if I’m the worlds worst girlfriend (the fact I STILL haven’t sent Bunny his aniversery card isn’t helping that).

I keep trying to hang on…but I have no idea what I’m hanging on for. My days are melding together into endless shades of grey intermixed with moments of pain and illness.

I’m at that moment of depression where you don’t really want to give up…but every passing minute eternity looks better and better then what you have.

I can’t even fucking cry anymore. I know, I’ve tried.

I’ve almost stopped eating again. I think if it wasn’t for the acid in my stomach I wouldn’t eat at all, but I need something to keep from throwing up. My hands won’t stop shaking, which makes it easier not to eat, less chance of spilling stuff.

It’s very hard to cut yourself with a dull razor blade. Even harder with a dull exacto knife. Guess the band-aide’s weren’t that effective considering I’ve removed the left one and have been laternating typing and trying to cut myself.

Makes me wonder how I managed to carve up my arms when I was a teenager with a mirror if I can’t do it with this damn blade. And I find it highly odd I’m avoiding the arm with my tattoo even though that’s my usual arm…guess I should ponder that instead of looking for a fresh blade.

Fuck my arm itches *scratches*