i don't think about suicide anymore.

i know that my blogs on here seem really negative and suicidal.
i'm healed of being suicidal thanks to God.
i'm just still lost. i'm not all here.
i know i have anxiety. i know some of it is ptsd. i don't want to admit to having either of those though. this is merely because i don't want to be medicated - again.
i know i was young, but i still remember those times. and that's the thing, i don't remember a lot of that time. that's how i know it fucked me up.
you fucked me up.
you killed my fucking dog. you thought medicating me after would make me okay. i saw you fucking throw her against the stucco wall. bitch. wussy asshole.

i just want to be able to sleep again. i don't sleep.
look what i found: "Chronic sleeplessness could be caused by psychological (mind-related) problems, such as severe anxiety or depression, or by a physical disorder."
yeah. severe anxiety. that's me. little miss fucked up.
oh yeah. and i act like a fuckin' kid when someone pretends to throw up.
i have panic attacks. i freak out. i hit people. it's bad. i don't want to think about it.
gosh.
i
suck
at
life.

there's no way he could actually like me.

you only fuel my depression.

why does he say he loves me? you kiss my fucking friend, talk to me like once every blue moon, and all of a sudden you ask me to marry you. then you get pissed when i say i'm not sure i even know you. you get pissed when i don't say i love you back.
I DON'T FUCKING BELIEVE IN LOVE. okay?
i've told you this. you said you understand.
i will always have a special fondness for you because you talked me out of suicide that one dark night.
i just don't know. it's not like you sprung your affection for me on at a great time either. ew father's day? fuck that.
oh ya. and how the hell do you expect me to tell the friend, hmm? ya. not gonna happen. i'm not letting her know.
i don't know what to do.
i like being loved.
i just don't know what i want.
i'm a danger to myself.

i'm going out of order.
this blog doesn't follow the notebook.
not that it was ever mean to make sense.

i'm a fucking tramp.
someone please knock some sense into me. or just kill me now. thanks.

beginnings.

I can't shake this. Everything else was easier than this. Nothing is right anymore. When did things stop going right and all be wrong? I can't put my finger on any event or circumstance that triggered it. But time doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I'm not putting the dates that I'm writing things on. It's unimportant. I'll let you know when it's June. All the days are just colliding into eachother and creating a haze too thick for me to see if I'm the girl in the mirror. Not that it matters because I know i'm not anymore. As much as people say it's a choice, this isn't. I don't want to be or feel this way. This way being the product of an empty shell...like something deep within me exploded and isn't going to reconstruct. I wander aimlessly.
Why am I still here?
Why am I still here?
WHY AM I STILL HERE?
why didn't you let me die when I tried so hard to? why?
I'm not anyone.
I'm not special.
I'm not beautiful.
I'm not a lover.
I'm not important.
I'm not anything.


...and I won't ever be.