i am sad.
and so, i sit, holed up in my room, letting the phone ring as many times as it wants to, leaving only to smoke and pee, reading prozac nation, and wanting so badly someone to whom can relate.
on saturday, d said that she's experimented like i have, but never to that extent. i'm actually proud of how fucked up i am.
and so, i sit, drinking some substance called big red that i stole out of my roommate's fridge, wanting something to munch on, wanting to be as smart as elizabeth wurtzel, wanting to get paid to tell people about my depression.
the reason i keep telling people about it is because i have yet to find anyone i can actually talk to. no matter how much i try to explain or how much they empathize, it's simply not the same.
and so, i find new places to hide both my literal and figurative scars, new places to bury them, hoping if i dig deep enough, literally and figuratively, i'll figure out away to dig myself out.
yet, everytime i find someone i might be able to relate to (adam) i push them away for fear that if they really do understand they'll tell me what bullshit it is. like my brother, telling me i have no right to be happy (not that i can relate to him).
and so, i lie in bed with the fan on and the lights off, trying to sleep, wanting to listen to phantom planet or jimmy eat world but too tired to get out of bed to put in a CD.
don't people realize when they pound on my door and i yell at them to come in and no one does and i get up to see who's there and no one's there it drives me more insane then i already am?
and so i'll crawl back into bed and not think about how messy my room is or how much reading i have to do or how i haven't done my taxes yet or anything else and i'll try to be content with nothingness.
//IwasCuredAlright (8:33:09 PM): if you want, get out some of your emotions and write me a letter
Auto response from theglitterfades0 (8:33:09 PM): good bye then
IwasCuredAlright (8:33:27 PM): or not. either way, feel better
IwasCuredAlright signed off at 8:33:48 PM. //