the burden of anguish is a great one to carry when walking back from parking one's car in IV.
the urge to cut is immense. wish i had pot so i can go to bed. cannot handle nyquil right now, though that would do the trick as well.
i want to carve "i lied" into my leg. i never wear skirts anymore so no one would know ... oh, except for all my friends who read this. hi! how are you? i'm fine. me too!
o, the depths of devastation. i hate how angst makes me so annoyingly verbose. see !!
i'm an idiot sometimes. (sometimes..?) realized why i have been reading so much: my escape. last summer, i absorbed as much tv as humanly possible. i think i once said, "who could be sad when joanie loves chachi?" i think i also once said that when i read, i get so involved in the book that i confuse my experiences with those i am reading. i'm pretty sure this is a conscious effort to forget about my life.
it's like my subconscious has an answering machine: "hi, morgan's going insane right now, but leave a message and she'll get back to you right after she fishes her way out of her current mental state. thanks! *beep*"
yeah, and fuck you too.
i was going to start this entry with "another SI urge thwarted by the melodies of weezer" but it does not look as though that is the case. i was lying outside on the sidewalk and felt so physically heavy from my mental anguish that it was an effort to get up and stumble inside, as it is an effort to hold my head up right now. is this the pills or my natural state of being? sigh.
oh, and do you think it helps when someone tells you they don't want to deal with you when you're depressed? um...yeah, me neither. [at least they're being honest.] well, i'll be honest too then: fuck off. you aren't my friend if you only want the good times.