Turn Me Off, Turn Me On, I'm long gone

Q: Where have I been?
A: Hell.

Firstly, I wanted to make my blog cooler for my readers using photos, cos I love photography. I'm actually the type of girl who'd go to a photo gallery and rave about it. But instead I downloaded a super virus. I warn you all: don't use the blogger bot or picasa - one of those contraptions gave me a virus that had made my Dad who is an electric engineer to wipe out windows and reinstall it again, so that sucked. Then, yesterday I saw the psychiatrist at Windmill Lodge. Firstly, I was late for the whole thing, and she was rushing me and all. She asked some questions about families, and I told the truth, that I have truth issues, that I cut/vomiot/overdose/hit etc and she told me that in fact there's nothing wrong with me. And I began to cry. It was just simply humuliating, with her writing notes, making webs.

Her final assessment: I have poor coping issues. I am chronically unhappy with life and myself, and therefore since I am not ill its all my fault, isn't it? I mean god, she managed to make the prospect of no pills like I want a horrible thing. She went on to say that I needed to make changes - granted, but god she wouldn't take into account of anything! Something is wrong with me. No one feels like I do, for so long without being depressed. I tried telling her about my delusional episode in 2000, which tends to happen to severe depressives and she was like "Why are you telling me this?" WELL, I'm trying to get help and by telling her about things I hope to get help. But no, apparentely she's not her to do that. She's not my therapist...fuck her. But of course I couldn't say that because well, I was crying too much. Overwhelmed by cliche. And oh, chronically unhappy. I'd better alter my profile, just in case she reads this.

I thought that if you want to talk about the wrenching in your gut, the knife under your skin, the ache in your spirit, then I thought people would listen. But no, you have to be suicidal, quiet, and sure of exactly what you want. I just don't know anything anymore. I have no fucking idea where to go. I realise now, I've been dicking around in my counselling sessions, using them as inspiration for fiction rather than a turning point. There's no point in me going there, so why, why? I'm going to quit it Tuesday.

Anyways, still crying, and trying really hard to quell this lump in my throat I've never felt before, she shook my hand, lead to the entrance and walked off. She was only doing her job. Maybe she was right about me. What do you think?

Anyways, I felt ashamed, so ashamed for crying. A person has not seen me cry for four years. She said I should feel like a weight has hit me. I do feel like that sometimes, but most of the time, I'm just dead inside, isn't that depression? I'm not suicidal either. I just wish someone would kill me. Nothing left to lose. I was walking down the motorway on the hospital, so tempted to throw myself under a bus. I could imagine being quite quick, at the speed they were going. But I didn't, I couldn't and I had a McDonalds. Warmer, I took a bus home. It's been snowing all week and its beautiful.

When I got home, more crying and I couldn't work. I want to work. But I'm incapable, I'm too stupid, weak underbred for all that. When I called Ria I had to rush because her mum on;y gave her five minutes. I feel guilty for her pain. I'm never there for her, always wrapped up in my own world. More crying, I waited for Charlotte, sweet Chaz to call. Of course she didn't. I cut all night to stop thinking about who I was/am/ever. Carved HATE and KILL. Onto my breasts. My breasts. It's upsetting me now and it will upset for a long time. It's sick. And I squirted baby lotion everywhere buts that was because I had no access to alcohol. If I can't to talk to anyone, if I am simply chronically unhappy (bullshite), how can I fix myself and whats the point of anything if nothing is going to change? I'm going to post this cos mny neck hurts and has since my politics mock (got 67%!! And A!!)