I have you wrapped
around my finger, but
out of choice.

I'm in control,
yet it's you
who dominates me.

I curl up and lie
To you about me,
and it sinks in.

What would I do?
If you were gone,
What is left?

No one to curl up with,
To invest my heart in,
and hope.

Your smile, so rare
I think it's imagined.
Yet I bring it.

Did you know
No matter how close,
Atoms never touch?

We touch. My eardrum finds
the forces of your heartbeat
And moulds.

My eyes seek yours,
Brown vs The State
my mind has been in.

Damages, dividends?
What do I seek?
Love. Is it yours?

Not legal, official, even preliminary.
Emotions aren't defined by bounds.
You lose me and I've lost.

I lose you
Funnily enough,
You see truth.

Joe.

I promise. I promise I promise I promise. I am so in love with you, you don't even realise. I feel so bloody down at the moment, true, but the thought of suicide hasn't even seriously crossed my mind recently. Because I couldn't bear hurting you, I couldn't bear the guilt of that, even if I wouldn't have any feelings after my death. The guilt of knowing I'd do that to you would kill me before any sleeping pills or trains. Doesn't that show I'm feeling better? Doesn't that show you've made that? I love you Joe. I love you too much to hurt you, my heart is literally fucking bursting looking at you sitting on the other end of that computer screen and sobbing. I shouldn't mean that much to you. I'm worth absolutely nothing, you're worth everything. All I am is me. And you're my fucking world. I feel so inflamed by fucking anger at myself right now because I know that what you're feeling is because of me. But I don't even care. I don't care I'm worth nothing, because I know I'm worth more than that to you, and taking anything away from you would kill me, so I won't. I promise, I promise, I promise.

I'm just a girl.

I'm tossing up between being buoyant and free and... flat, worried. It's swinging drastically between the two. I... I wish that I could just stick to an in between. I've finished school. My last day was Friday, my last proper day, Thursday. I have 11 exams ahead of me, 12 if you count my external practical for drama as one. 12 years boils down to this moment and I feel like I'm going to screw up. I don't even fucking know anymore. What am I after school? That was my identity. "Student." I was nothing, nobody else to the big world around. Just some teenager wandering the suburbs on a break from study. My mum seems to hate me, my dad seems to love me, and my whole world has turned topsy turvy and I don't know if I'm making sense. I'm scared shitless of this thing they call the future. I know I should focus on the now... but if I don't focus on the future what if the deep blue of the sky comes to swallow me whole, the sun behind me with nowhere to go. What am I? What are exams?
Our lives are determined around 30 or so hours spread out over a couple of months? It's ridiculous. When in the future are we going to have to sit in a room and cram all we know about a huge broad topic into the space of a few hours? Surrounded by scribbling pens and the waft of whiteout, ink stains on fingers trying to jam a years worth of knowledge into a couple of sheets of paper.
I'm scared as hell.
I don't need this right now.

Myself.

I'm becoming very involved in life of late. I've taken a dominant role in deciding its course, I'm no longer letting depression sweep me along. I am wholly myself. I am in control.
I'm allowing myself to speak up rather than be crippled by guilt about what could happen. My opinions are being voiced, and though the manner in which they are voiced need some work, they are clearly expressed.
I am becoming engaged in my passions again. In Literature, we're studying Ted Hughes' poetry- well to be honest we've finished, and only an essay is left to write- but I feel inflamed by inspiration, it is as if this fire has grown a solid base under me, its warmth is bouyant and I am untouchable. I remember the reason I am so passionate about words and language, and about the meaning they create. I am a force and I will continue until the power within me has subsided. I know why  I want to teach. This passion. This passion drives me, and if there is one thing I'd like to accomplish in life it would be to express and perhaps inspire this passion in others.
And love. Passion and love. If there's one thing I'm not lacking it's love. My relationship with my boyfriend feels as though it is blossoming into another new level. I have once again been thrown into the tumultuous vortex and I am falling again, though this time I'm ready to relinquish all control. Adolescence may be the game I play, but I don't need to abide by its rules. If it tells me I may not fall in love at 16, and particularly in different stages, I argue. Adolescent rules are simply wrong and cynical and I am living proof.
Passion. This is my life at the moment. I am fuelled by my beliefs and values and emotions. I am fully engaged in myself. Christ, I'm smiling more than a few months ago I would have even thought possible.
I am defined by myself. Not my relationship, not my instability, not my reputation, but by myself.

Fuck promises. I've had enough. See you in a long time, everyone.

I didn't get any sleep last night. I'm scared. help me. I've got to write an English essay first up. I can't do it. I've written a couple of paragraphs as practice and they do not make any sense, reading over them. I want to be able to do well and I can't with this lack of sleep and feeling as low as this. I've stopped crying for about ten minutes in the last three hours. when suicide becomes a more feasible option than writing an essay... shit. I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do.

I feel so lost.
I didn't think I'd feel like this again.
I'm scared of what I might do.
help

There is good.

I need to reflect on the good days instead of just giving you a reflection of the bad, and my negative scribblings. And they do exist, though I may not give the most accurate reflection of that.
I mean, this Saturday just passed I had a fantastic day. It started out with a smile and a lift in his arms, and making a public display of affection and foolishness that was directed at each other but rebounded from the walls and filled the whole empty area with love, as well as rolled eyes from cynical observers. I'm a lucky girl to have found this depth of emotion at such a young age, though I've probably sacrificed other areas as a result. Just being able to bury myself in his scent and nuzzle into his body. Ugh, I hate that I'm so corny when I used to be such a cynic. Hypocrisy at its finest. But gosh, if someone like who I used to be can be transformed from a cynic to a believer there's hope for everyone. Even if this relationship ends bitterly - though I doubt it will- I can still manage to look back on these memories and draw a smile from my mind. And that's got to be out there for everyone, this hope in humanity musn't be fostered from nothing, love is real and common, no matter if you feel it young or old, long or short lived. Sometimes you just need to switch your focus.
On the twenty second we have been dating for a year. And it's been the best of my life. Probably coupled with the worst moods, but in general it has been an increasingly positive year and will hopefully have increasingly positive outcomes. I love him and I'm glad to have a physical reminder of that love about my neck and around my finger at all times.
On a wholly different note, I'm learning to drive. I'm really surprised at how supportive my dad has been in relation to that. He;s bought a car which he'll give to me when I turn 17 at the end of the year, and so far he's given me two lessons. He's been pretty sparing in his praise, but he's been praising, saying well done on more than a couple of occasions on the few hours I've spent in the drivers seat with him at my side. And seeing as mum needs to be actively involved in it, he's been talking to her and apparently his praise hasn't been at all sparing in talking to her about me. And my dad, if you can understand this, has very little belief in praising, so when you get praise you know you deserve it. As well, in my second lesson, he let me drive home on a main road with traffic lights and everything, which I suppose signifies some trust in me.

She convulses. Sobs wreck her thin body and her muscles spasm under the influence of what she is no longer a part of. She lives, but barely. Her distorted grin is a reflection of expectations and reality. She is not what she wanted and she is less than everyone hoped for. She clings to her shadows who have ripped and torn at her clothes until her skirt sits about her hips and her lies are the only thing covering her modesty. she has reduced herself to this, and for what? Men who dance an endless dance above her, sweaty, sweaty bodies with guts hanging loose and the stench of cider on their breath, but more importantly, the clink of coins in their pocket and the promise of the sweet sensations that she knows she can get. She's good at this, she knows it, they all know it, that's why they come to her. But she is stretched to her fullest and any idea that this is an act connected with love is gone, gone. 'Fuck 'em. Fuck the lot of 'em, they can rot in hell.' Rot in hell as they rot inside her, as their seed is planted with futility. At least she doesn't have to worry about kids, that concern was dismissed when she first went into the business. One botched abortion and that chance died. She supposes it's a positive thing, but she would have liked the opportunity- what if she sorted herself out, got some blue collar bloke to marry her? What then? But no. Not at all, none left of that now. She's having enough trouble getting the money anymore for her habit. She makes what she needs, she gets a decent amount, but that's only what you get from the streets. You need a bit of class to work the high end. Even in her convulsions she sneers. Class? A whore and class? You wouldn't think so. She cannot raise herself from the ground, she is stuck on the piss stained tiles of a public bathroom and she can hear a mans grunting and a whores moaning in the stall next door, and some sense of decency stirs in her, wants her to get up and hammer on the wood and protest against public indecency. Then she realises, she isn't a schoolgirl anymore, she's one of them and a hypocrite to boot. And mummy and daddy had such high expectations; wasn't she going to be a lawyer, or a doctor? But no, she fell in with the wrong crowd, with the wrong habits, and now with her last convulsion her leg slips into the stall next door just as the whores stilettoed foot stabs into the ground once he's reached his climax. But it's not the ground, it's her leg, and when she feels the heel break her skin she's off into the world she knew she was aimed at since she collapsed in the cubicle.

I exist.

I exist as a human being.
I exist physically. I am an almost physically developed and matured female, perhaps not in the psychosocial sense of the word, but physically. My body is ready for the situations it may be given, though my mind is not.
I exist sexually. I am aware of how people use their body according to needs and desires. I know the power one can have, being in control of their own body, I know the disempowerment one can suffer when difficult or negative choices are made in regards to it. I'm responsible for my sexual self and I'll take full responsibility for anything that happens as a result.
I exist mentally. I'm fully aware of my mental processes and know that I, like most others, possess the capability for intelligence and am attempting to utilise it. However, part of my psyche involves not existing to my full capacity due to the effects my negativity has on my mental capabilities. And I'm trying to change that.
I exist emotionally. I am touched by sadness and love and anger, I react with them explosively, not accordingly. And one can't erase their reactions, nor can they predict, or to an extent, control their actions. And my actions, reactions, and emotions are once again prompting me towards one specific action, though I feel more determined to sway the other way than I used to be.

But I don't exist fully. I don't know who I am. I don't let myself exist. And when other people don't recognise that I do it makes it more difficult.

I was prescribed anti-depressants today. I begin them tomorrow. I can't persuade myself to have hope for them.

That feeling.
Warmth and safety, but hurt and distance created by emotional instability.
The only reason I've stayed this long is that feeling.
It's getting to the point where a day without you brings death closer. This dependency, this fundamental need to be with you is getting to the point I have no control of it anymore. Every other day I feel dwarfed by everything. This depression makes me feel so small, and I don't know how to face anything that lies ahead. I really don't. I'm legitimately looking into options for repeating my final year of school- for anyone who knows me, that's a humongous deal. I've always tried to be really focused on schoolwork, but lately it's completely slipped away from me. I failed two of my exams, and I've had more than one breakdown at school in the last month. I mean, it's good, that teachers know now, that things are being done, but it's too late. I feel like I'm being twisted, you know, wringed out. I'm constantly getting that tight feeling in my chest, throughout my whole body.
The parent interview day, my Literature teacher gave me an essay to do I'd missed out on over the holidays, with my mums supervision. I've tried to do it twice so far; both times I've broken. I've started to go through information about the book I'm studying, discuss how it applies to the general gist of the essay question... And no, I start crying. I feel as though everything I try is going to crash.
And these last few days have maybe been a chance at being happy. Or putting up a temporary happiness. And shit, now with the thought of being away from you for two days- two fucking days, how pathetic- I'm already anticipating sliding back into that pit. It's a constant fucking battle.

But you know, I'm seeing a psychologist, I have a psychiatrist appointment on Monday, I might be prescribed medication, I might actually be helped.
For now I'm just holding on. But fuck, it'd be so much easier with you.

my chest feels like it's caving in on itself.
all the little things are adding up and it's been two fucking days since I started feeling okay.
just why.

sorry sorry sorry
only thing coming out of conversation nowadays huh.
well it's my fault to start with. i'm just gonna stop going on msn, no good ever comes of it. delete it off the computer.
no msn, no credit on phone, nothing that means I'm just gonna make people miserable.
doesn't matter when people don't talk to me anyway. they can't be assed so i won't even try.

I want to get something to make me smile..

Love is as natural as breathing.

I feel like the most pathetically reliant person on this earth.
Yesterday was my heaven. If there's anywhere that exists after we die for the good... I won't be sent there, but if there was and I was good, I'd be where I was yesterday. Not literally, but in the same place mentally with the same person physically. Not overwhelmingly bouncing-off-the-walls happy, but just completely at peace and content.
It's moments like that I live for. Feeling safe and contained within the room of life. The ceiling has never been there, and there's usually a wall or two that's fallen down, and I'm in leaning on one that's in a bad state of disrepair. You renovate that room, or give the illusion of renovating it and I can feel that for as long as my mind is contented with me being content for.
Just talking, and looking into your eyes, and seeing you reflecting the selfsame satisfaction and contentedness that I felt, and holding your body while you held mine. I felt so attached to you then. There's so much that can be said for physicality. Just being able to see you, and hold you, and feel your heart beating and know that my life is in safe hands for another day or so because I can remember that feeling and I want to live for it. And then curled up on a chair that wasn't built for two people. My head on your chest and legs across yours, watching a film that made complete and absolute sense to me and felt so right for the headspace I was in.

I'm in love. If we ever end, and when I'm middle aged I tell a 16 year old that they don't know what love feels like, someone kill me. Because this is the absolute strongest depth of emotion I've ever felt, and for it to beat suicide, or at least fight a very strong battle against it, means it is a lot. And maybe adolescent love is different to middle aged love, but you know, I can't imagine so. You can't give them the same name and call it a homophone. And who knows, maybe I'll be breathing to the world and still loving with each breath I give, and maybe I'll come home to you at night, or you'll come home to me, and maybe we'll stay the centre of each others worlds forever.

I'm not corny, be quiet.

I really don't like being in a good mood. Because after I experience it for long enough, I crash, and the crash is always more than what I expect, and it happens over the course of about 10 minutes. And it means, if I've had it over the day, then I can't sleep all night. Meaning none will happen tonight.
I'm going to do it this time.

I'm following.

I saw truth.

I went missing.

Leaving the post below up just to show my dickheadedness.
I don't doubt I will, but he talked me out of it when I was nearly where I was going to do it.
I don't know. Maybe he's got chances.

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry to everyone I've lied to.
I'm not okay, I'm really not.
If you have found that out, then you would have been one of the few to find out the truth. It doesn't matter. It doesn't actually matter that I'm not okay, that I haven't been for years. Three times in the past 4 years I've actually been happy. Once, a day out with a best friend I've now lost. Another time, falling for Joe, and the next while that followed lost in love. That lasted a long time. Until late February this year. Then over the last exam break. 5 days in a row with him. Fucking Christ, I love him. More than anything in this world, though that's not saying much. I don't feel an attachment to much in the world anymore. Everyone either wants me gone or doesn't give a shit. I don't have anything to offer the world. I've failed like, half my exams- I want to be a fucking English teacher, and I failed my English exam? What the fuck,  like, honestly? I want to teach drama, and I can't act for shit. I can't do anything for shit, actually. What's the fucking point in being around if there's nothing I can do to help the world, or anyone?
I lie to my friends. I lie, I lie, I lie, and I still consider myself a friend of theirs? I don't deserve friendship. I don't deserve anyone.
Everyone is so fucking supportive. I love them to bits, but I'm fucking sick of it. I shouldn't be treated differently to anyone else just because I have a bit of a mental condition.
Mum. Mum, I'm sorry. I don't mean this.. I don't want to hurt you. I couldn't talk to you, I couldn't let you worry. I know this is going to hurt, I know you're going to be scared as fuck. I can't do anything else. I'm sorry. Shit mum, I love you. You're the best person anyone could have wished for to be a parent.
Dad? Fuck you. I love you, I think, but because of you I don't have any confidence whatever in myself. I've gotten shut down everytime I've tried and thought to have succeeded. I could have done better. Always could have done better. Your depression is worse than mine, you're all alone in that big old house, I'm a girl going through hormones? I'm alone in my mind dad, and I don't know about you, but I don't think a teenager should feel like this. If you fucking touch mum I hope you fucking die with a rake embedded in your throat.
She hasn't fucking made my depression by splitting up the household, I would have been dead long ago if I'd still been living with you. She has not done anything to cause this, she's got me to see counsellors and psychologists and psychiatrists and she's TRIED to HELP. The only person whose caused this is me. Don't fucking touch her, and don't fucking touch the other kids.
Joe. God Joe Joe Joe. I didn't think love was anything to envy, but shit. I don't think it's even possible to feel this much for another person. but I do. I'd do anything for you. There's nothing. Two weeks before we started going out I tried to kill myself. A week after I was going to again. You kept me off that. Finally I actually believe that yeah, you love me as much as I love you. And I want to stay. If you were the only thing in my life, I'd stay. I'd stay, I'd stay, I'd stay.

Fuck.
I can't write anymore.
Thankyou.
Everyone, thankyou.
I'm so sorry.

... I had made plans to break a promise tonight. I'm still not fully convinced against it. I don't know if I'll wake up tomorrow...
Shit.. I need someone here.
But that means asking for something they don't want to do. And I can't do that.

Can I iterate something?
http://senseminusthesensibility.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-wish-people-who-are-sick-of-me-would.html

There's a couple of things I need to change.

1. I will not let my depression be an excuse for anything. I'm a high school student. I'm in my final year. Of course I'm going to have a high workload. Don't blame your depression that you can't deal with that Brittany, it's your laziness, your high level of procrastination, and your distraction by emotions. Everyone deals with it, don't let yourself become a victim just because you've got a bit of a mental tiff that you should be able to deal with anyway. You're seeing someone for it, what more do you want?

2. I need to stop staying up. I don't care if you won't sleep, you don't know if you can't try. It probably has a negative impact on your mood, even if the bad nights it's worse if you don't do it intentionally. Just wait until a good night. They've been infrequent recently, but one will come, you know it will. Then you will let yourself go to sleep, or at least you will try, before 11:30.

3. You need to stop succumbing to nights. There is nothing that makes them any worse than the days; you're just weak. Keep yourself occupied. Talk to people. Don't be negative in your talking either. All it does is give you an oddly warped sense of satisfaction and makes them feel as shit as you do.

4. Treat people a damn of a hell of a lot better. They deserve it. You don't. They're supporting you and helping you through this, even if you don't want to be helped. They deserve some gratitude. Stop telling them what their motivations are, and maybe then you'll start believing it too. People aren't in it for the listener, the person who'll stick up for them, the companionship, or sexual gratification, in the case of one person. They're in it for you. You don't believe any of this, even as you're writing it. But hey, use your negativity to your own advantage for once. You're crap at it all, so why would they be seeking it from you? If you can't believe that your logic doesn't make sense.


This is all shit self talk.
You're a shit person, what do you expect?
Jesus. I don't think my eyes have learnt what the idea of stopping crying is.

What the hell.. Everything was going so well, and this week it's been spear tackled.

Crashing.

There are some things in life I've just grown to accept. I can't imagine them to be any other way. Like my sister, being born with Down Syndrome. I am constantly being asked whether I wished I had a normal family, or a normal sister, or if I wonder what it would be like. No. The answer's always no. I love my sister, couldn't think of changing her for anybody else or anything else. She's taught me compassion and love and patience and acceptance, and without that I wouldn't be the person I am today. I don't wish I had a normal family, I wish people wouldn't assume that my family isn't, just because she is a huge part of it. She can be the nicest person I know and having a big sister that acts like what a 'normal' big sister would couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't be anything like the experience I've had growing up with her. I couldn't be thankful enough, and though I'm sure I'd love a big sister as I love any member of my family, I wouldn't cherish her like I cherish Danica. Danica is beautiful, and sweet, and caring, and kind, and though her capacity to understand can sometimes be frustrating there's no way anyone could stay mad at her. She is normal, she's more than, she is my normal.
I've grown to accept my dad and his moods and his aggression and his.. everything. I dread seeing him every week, because I never know when he's going to flare up, I never know what we can do to aggravate him this time. I'm not as scared of him as I was when I was younger. He wouldn't hurt us unless he was absolutely pissed. But it's a part of him. I remember when I was very young, sometime before I was 7, I got a pink Kelly dollhouse for my birthday, or for Christmas. I'd been asking for it for a long time, and when I finally got it, I loved it to bits. It had moon and star cutouts in the walls and a slide and you could swing part of it out so you could see a room. It was my favourite toy, and I made Kelly play with it everyday. Once, I didn't do something Dad asked. He'd only asked a couple of times, but when he realised I hadn't done it after he asked more than once, he made me sit on a chair in front of him, then he went to my room, put the dollhouse down, and then stomped on it. It broke easily. It was only plastic. And then there's the time when we moved out of the first refuge, and he came to see us  regularly, and was calm, and I thought something had changed in him, because he was civil and polite and lovely and it felt like having the dad that everyone else had. And I was happy. Until one night, he came to our house, and he took us out for a walk, like usual, but he was slightly drunk, and in the house, once we got back, Mum said something he didn't agree with. He immediately lost his temper, and they got into an argument. Except it wasn't an argument, because arguments are two sided. Mum was just standing in a corner crying while he yelled at her. Us kids just ran to our rooms once we realised what was happening. I was... 2003 it was, so I was 8. We came out only after we had heard the front door slam and Dad drive off, and we ran to Mum and hugged her. There was nothing else we could do. And then I saw the stains and dents and bits of broken china on the walls. We had Ovaltine before bed every night, and the mugs were sitting on the counter. Dad had picked them up and thrown them at the wall.
So yeah. I'm used to Dad being aggressive, to being borderline violent, to being someone to dread, but I can deal with it now. Evidently, not well enough, my 'dealing with it' having manifested in depression or possible bipolar disorder.
It seems rather dramatic. As a sixteen year old, I've been homeless three times. I've tried to commit suicide 4, and had another go at it last August, which can't be called an attempt seeing as I just collapsed and sobbed on the platform. And tonight I feel like throwing myself off a bridge or a cliff or the platform. If I had sleeping pills accessible in the house I might have already done it. And yet for the past 5 days before today I've been really good, I've been on an ultimate high. Now I've come crashing, and I feel lower than I have for weeks.
It's times like these that make me scared. Because I don't want a constant stream of suicidal thoughts taking hold of my mind in such a way that I feel like it's acceptable. And that's what it's starting to become.
These last five days have been kind of amazing, because for the first time in a long, long, long time, I got a taste of being happy. I didn't think it really could exist any more for me. And it did. It's that which should bring light, that I know I can still be happy. It's just hard, when that's the first proper glimpse in what's nearing a year.
I'm scared of suicide being okay. It's not and I need to convince myself of that. The rational part believes that, but it's the irrational part that makes the decisions.
I just want to curl up with Joe and ignore the world for just a few more days. I want to feel safe in knowing that my next thought isn't going to lead me to suicide.
I need help.
I suppose I'm getting it. If at the meeting they decide I'm eligible, one of the first approaches they might try me on is to get me on some antidepressants, to level my mood so I'm starting from a solid base. I still want more than anything not to take antidepressants, but I want to be better. Still not yet for myself, which needs to change, but for others. Then they're going to start me on cognitive behaviour therapy...
I don't know. I don't think it'll help, but I suppose I need to look at it with a healthy mindset for it to work as well. So I'll start trying to convince myself of what I believe is a lie. Don't fight against the irrational for once.
I'm fighting against myself no matter which way I go about it.

Photos from a day out at Serpentine Falls with Joe.

What is messing with me? This last... while, the days I've been fine, but the evenings and nights after about 6PM I turn completely sour. I assume every silence, every gap is a result of my inability to communicate, any voice raised a fraction is because I'm an irresponsible, selfish idiot and I deserve everything they dish out against me, and worse. I overreact; case in point last Wednesday night. I turn against everyone I talk to, in a hope they'll see just how bad a person I am, that they'll grow frustrated at me and want to hit me every time I say something. Because that's what I feel. I want to break myself, I want to make myself weak and dishonourable. I don't want to honour promises, and sometimes I make promises just for trying to make myself break them. I want to make myself into even more of a bad person. I want to be hated by everyone I talk to, I want to let go of this world and any attachments I have in it. I want to be abused, I want to sink to the lowest levels I can in every way. I love too much to do that... and so I need to make people hate me, so they know what's best for them... I don't know. I need someone. I need to stop. But I need to carry on. Shit, shit, fuck. Someone smash me against the wall, break all the bones in my body, crack my skull and leave me bleeding on the floor. Leave me comatose. That's the only kind of life I'd be any good at.

Seeing a psychiatrist tomorrow... For fuck's sake, why is anyone even fucking bothering.

... I want to curl up into a ball and fade away from this world slowly and gently.

I don't see how people put up with me. Especially people who are attracted to me in a romantic sense.
I'm completely unattractive, see this post, and for any appeal to even begin there is usually some form of physical attraction, no matter how small.
That, and the fact I never stop complaining about myself and about my life,  and that details are often made public due to my tendency to reveal things about myself to the world via Blogger and Tumblr, and my depression and bipolarity and my selfishness and egocentricity and general stupidity, and my habit of becoming worked up and leaving before things can be properly resolved, and my addiction to making others feel my aggravation and my negativity.
And my hate towards myself.
If I can't even like me why should anyone love me?
Christ, no-one can mean it, they can't be in it for me, the other reasons are probably the only reason I have long relationships.

I wish the people who are sick of me would just say it.

Do you think if I aggravated someone enough they'd murder me?

Let's work on that.

I hate these nights that I already know I won't sleep. Christ.

I'm scared.

fuck this
everyone who i speak to about it starts blaming themselves, or starts guilt tripping me.
guilt tripping me is going to make you feel guilty- it's going to hurt me more to live than it will hurt you for me not to, i'm going to have to live with it all of my natural life.
but you are the ones who are going to stop me from doing it.
fucking hell
i actually don't know what i'm doing anymore, i can't die and i can't live and i can't... for fuck's sake.

the only thing i'm doing nowadays is crying.
well, crying, seeing a psychologist, crying, seeing a GP, crying, seeing a psychiatrist... then the cycle will repeat.

god this fucking hurts i can't do it i can't i can't i can't
fuck, just fuck.

3 months, one week.

In the last two weeks, I've cried what, four, five, six times at school? I don't think I can hold it together much longer.

I know the person, all too well.
Her flat, spread feet. Her ankles, barely distinguishable from her too wide calves- fair enough, if they were muscle. But they aren't. How can they be, when she doesn't do any exercise? Usually covered in bruises, as are her knees. Her knees are a masochist gone wild, but the knees her scars inhabit are only a victim of her own clumsiness,rather than any intention. Her flaccid, pale thighs, dimpled and shadowed by excess skin and fat. Her pelvic bones, which rise up unnaturally from a flat surface, then the pocket of her stomach, which slopes up unnaturally from the space between her pelvic bones. Her waist, something that needs to be reduced to what it used to be, something that has grown drastically. Her ribs aren't visible anymore, unless she sucks herself in. Her collarbones- the only thing she doesn't mind about her physical self. Her thick neck, with an imitation Adam's Apple. Was she meant to be male? Her sickly face, her square jaw, her chin, ever reddening with the presence of another pimple, her overgrown lips with their moustache, her dimples which make her an overgrown child, her nose, covered in blackheads and freckles. She looks out, but it's the bags that look at you, not the eyes. Hey eyes themselves are a mess of colour- someone's thrown some blue, some green, some brown in there, and they're red and sore looking from tears or sickness, always. Her forehead, too large,so she covers it with ugly hair, which always has the appearance of being greasy. This girl is pitiful.
However, on any other body she'd admire it, and she'd take a lot worse if she could just be happy.

Nights are difficult.
I stay up late not for the sake of staying up late, but to make myself so tired I can't think about anything when I'm going to bed, that I just fall asleep, without lying under my ceiling watching occasional car headlights filtering through my curtains, and thinking about light and death, about dark and life. That's what it all eventually boils down to. The light at the end of this tunnel is death, and life holds only dark.

You know, I think it'd be amusing in an incredibly grim way if I got hit by a car or something and died instantly within the next few weeks, seeing as I've made this promise.

Idiot.

As if you were ever stupid enough to believe you meant anything to anybody, especially someone you had feelings for back.
Worthless cow, stupid fucking bitch, selfish lunatic. Go hurl yourself off a fucking bridge already and die.
Fucking promises. Why did I ever make it. Now I've got to live through the next few months.
Smart one, dumb one. Another idiotic move by yours truly. Thankyou, thankyou for watching my pathetic attempt at a life shrivel once again.

I'm fine, I'm fucking fine, I'm fucking fine, and that is what you will tell the doctors on Monday, that is what you will tell the psychologist on Wednesday, and you won't say anything else again, ever. You don't need help, you're beyond help. You're a degraded piece of shit and you shouldn't be wasting their time.

Fuck it, why did I make that promise, why can't I break my bloody morals and go drown myself now.

Not writing in this blog again.

another sleepless night knowing I mean nothing.
Yay.

What is it with me?
God. I miss my life as it used to be. I miss having at least one day in the week I didn't cry, one day in the week I didn't plan the notes I'd leave or the way I'd go, in my mind or on paper. It would hurt the people I love so much to just look through my diary.
I'm lucky. I've got some amazing people in my life, I'm in love, and I know I have the ability to make lasting friends easily, if I choose to do so. I haven't attempted to make any good friends recently, and I've been neglecting most of my friendships, because the only future I've been imagining is one without me, and I figure, what's the use of hurting someone else? I don't want to feel like this, I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Death would be better than this, but I can't do that, I have people to please and a life to live... whether or not I want to live it, I should be grateful I have it. I hate this feeling of living only for someone else- that's not saying anyone's living through me, it's just that other people's will is the only thing keeping me going. There's no reason I should feel like this, there are people out there who would be jealous of me, and I've given advice exactly against what I'm feeling. Words don't help though, not anymore. They used to be a release, they used to be a drug to me. I'd let some negativity out, or take some positivity in, and I'd get the high that comes from giving up some burden. Now I let out or take in  more, and more, and more, and the maximum high I'll get lasts about half an hour.
There's nothing wrong with my life. I love it, and the people in it. Something's got to be wired wrong, because I can't get anything but pain out of light, love, and positivity, and when something goes the slightest bit wrong I sink to a new and dangerous low.
I've promised four months- three and a half or so left by now- and I'll stick that out, definitely. I don't break my promises. It's going to be difficult though, and if I last for longer than a week later I'll be surprised.
I really don't want to hurt people. I want to create new, and lasting memories with amazing and intricate friendships, but I can't do that if even now I'm killing myself without trying.
Fuck, I've got to get out of this, please, please, let me save myself.

someone kill me so I don't break any promises.

So goddamn sick of myself. It's like I'm an annoying kid and you want to nod your head and move away... but it's me. Only one way I can move away from me.

You invade my every sense. I wake up and smell you on my bedcovers and I smile. For about an hour this morning I could see your eyes when I closed mine. The sound of your voice, your smile when I smile, the feel of your skin, neck, hair, as I run my hand up your back and snuggle in closer.
When I'm not with you, I surround myself with thoughts of you. This isn't healthy. I love you beyond anything I really had the capacity to believe in before. What happens if it ends? You're the only thing keeping me attached to this world. Promises mean a lot, especially to those like us that profess not to break them, but you can never promise feelings. What if they change? I'm gone, you are my leaning post. I don't exist other than for you. That's too much responsibility for one person.

The last conversation I had with him I mentioned I had a new favourite song. This was a long time ago. How long exactly, I don't know. But it was 'Forever Young'.
I just had a conversation with him on his blog about Morrissey. He remembers how much I like him. Well, I told him to listen to Morrissey, and he guessed it was me when I told him. And just after a conversation we had he posted the lyrics to Forever Young.
Shit, does he remember me as much as I remember him? Does he remember every incident as clearly as the day it happened? He remembers my favourite song from over a year ago, he remembers I liked Morrissey. Does he remember that day? Does he remember fake metal trees?
You've really thrown me off kilter here, Ryan. I haven't seen you in six months. I thought I blocked you out effectively enough. Obviously not, if two things you've done tonight have stirred up an unhealed welt of memories. Sigh.
I want to be your friend, I miss you.

I've hit a wall. I don't think there's long left of Brittany now. She's nearly over.
I'm not even going to try. I'm worthless. I'm a friend to lean on and then be forgotten, I'm someone to make you happy when I can't be happy myself. When was the last fucking time I was happy? You know you're in trouble when you can't remember the last time the thought of killing yourself wasn't at the forefront of your mind.
I can see why I didn't want to grow up last year. This was obvious. It was going to happen. It's going to happen.
This lasting a year thing.. yeah, that resolution is kaput. When no-one even cares any more and when the only thing keeping you tied to the earth are people that value you but not your life, you need to go.
Depression has never made me angry before. Today it has, and last night too. But at the moment I've come to a point of acceptance. I'm never going to be helped. The good isn't worth the bad, it  pales in comparison.
I can't drag myself up. I can't, and no-one else can do it for me. I give up.I'm crying. I'm torn, I'm broken. Bits of me that have been coping are now strewn all about, and they can't work without being attached. When I cry, I'm not crying. I can't breathe. My sobs get caught in my throat now, and for a few seconds, it feels like that's how I'm going to die. Red faced and wet faced, tears still running. An ugly Picasso, disjointed features and colours.
I want to have normal teenage concerns. I want to worry about a boy, or worry about school work, or be annoyed at parents, or about petty teenage fights. I want that pain, I want to throw this away. But I'm stuck with this and will be forever. That's the only forever that exists now. the certainty that happiness is something that will come into my life briefly, and flare out again, to be replaced by long, dark holes of loneliness and solitude and gut wrenching pain. Give me the pain back of a child. I want to graze my knee and cry at the sight of blood. Physical pain doesn't matter. break all my limbs, crack my skull open. I want to feel something other than THIS.How on earth can I keep living like this? This isn't living, it's dying, and slowly, and more painfully than I could have ever imagined.
Let me go. Let me die. I need to, it's the only escape I have.
There's no fucking reason for it, I don't need to explain it, it's just what I'm feeling. And if there's no reason, how can I stop this? I'm not going to bother explaining any more. Who am I? I don't want to hurt people, anything but, but it's the only choice I have. I'm killing myself, and whether I do that slowly or quickly is going to depend on me. I am not a good person. I am anything but. And I don't deserve the opinion of anyone who thinks I am, because they're wrong.

The only thing that's been there for me, that's understood me all this way, is my depression. And it's killing me.

A breezer drunk quickly, feeling like shit and being unwanted... fun night ahead.

Scratch that last post. I want to die. I don't deserve to live.
I'm going to make people hate me. Then I can die because they'll want me to too.

Today's one of those days I want to sleep and never wake up. I'm slipping towards a really low mood and I'm trying to keep myself from doing it but it's not working. I'm trying, I'm trying so goddamn hard that I'll kill myself just from the effort of staying relatively okay.

It hurts. Everything hurts.
People keep looking for reasons to justify why I'm feeling like this. There are none. There's no spark to it, nothing that sets these moods off. They just happen. It's my makeup, genetically and environmentally.
I can't deal with myself. I can't. But then other people can't deal with me either, they don't know me and I refuse to burden them with the knowing of me. I can't do anything.
I don't want to die, necessarily. I just don't want to... live.

Exasperating mouthy twat of a girl doesn't know when she should shut her gob.
Sex crazed little freak seeking endless self destruction, doesn't know when to stop.
She pulls and tangles herself further into that knot.
Her words are missiles, but she doesn't know where they'll be lobbed.
But she doesn't mean it, she doesn't realise she's acting God.
Blame it on the hormones, the Pill, she isn't the boss
Of herself, she isn't in control of whether that switch is on or off.
She is at the cockpit, but all she sees is fog.
There is naught ahead, naught to live for, naught to die for, she waits with the tick-tock
Of the clock, the clock which lies, which laughs, which thrives on the throb
Of her heart, her lungs, rushing into her ears and drowning her, she is besotted
With her underwater palace, never drawing her eyes from the creatures which inhabit it, that mob,
Swirling, clamouring for attention, while ahead and above the light breaks through the waves atop.
She has been so long underwater watching her kingdom flourish, it appears she has forgot
Her inability to swim. Her palace is sinking, her dreams and glorious facade dying. With a nod,
She takes all in stride. They all know. She loves, she has loved, she will love no more. Gone, gone.
She is finished and done. She has devoured herself, left herself to rot. She is brought along,
And laid now to rest. They wait for her death with bowed heads, and to the sky, the earth, the sea, she gives her soul.

Let's lock ourselves away from the world and focus on each other forever.

Thrown into the jaws of salvation, they chew and spit. They don't like my taste, I've been dead too long.

I don't know what I am dreaming of, or thinking of, or acting on anymore.

Went to the doctor yesterday. Didn't break. I made sure I didn't, I couldn't, I wouldn't.
I told her what I needed to say.
I'm seeing a psychologist. I don't know when, but I've got another appointment with the doctor on Monday, and one on Wednesday with the psychologist.

I've slept about four hours total these past two nights, and these next few don't look as though they'll be  productive sleep wise either.
Last year of school. The ball.
I should be excited but I want to sleep through it.

Don’t let me rip myself away. I’ll try my hardest not to rip myself away, but I can’t do it alone, no matter what I tell myself.
I’m enjoying parts of life far too much now to give them up, but I’m still tearing myself away, like Velcro, but you can hear the pop as each part unhooks. It’s going slowly, agonisingly so. The force of my will isn’t enough anymore to keep me here, when half of it is trying and half of it is striving the other way. One side will win, this time round, but I’m not sure which way it will turn as yet.

Talking about the future, and views that disagree, and lives that may be at tangents to each other.

I found a memory from a tangent relationship today. I wish I hadn't. The best day of my life was then, and it's still the best day of my life. It was the first time I was honestly, purely, and simply happy since I was very young. Yet the person I shared it with won't share any experiences with me again.
Friendships deteriorate, hearts shapeshift, and minds wander to bigger and better.
I have what I want, but only in terms of one person. Can I have the best friendship of my life back?
No Brittany, bad luck.

I've committed myself to not doing anything against myself until Thursday. Thursday I have an appointment with my GP, one my mother made me make. Until then, I'm coping. Nothing more than that.

Someone come and make me happy.

I started crying during two of my lessons today. It wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact I only had three.

A few years ago I used to think crying myself to sleep every week was bad.
Now I can't remember the last night I wasn't crying.
Make it stop. I'm caught in the floodgates and I'm drowning in my own emotions.
I don't want to suffer, I don't want to be caught in this forever.
I'm dead already. My mind is empty, blank, stifling.
I'm playing Russian Roulette.
I think the last bullet in the chamber won't be too far away now.

Drowning. The noise and sound surrounds me.
I am enveloped.
This scares me more than anything. I don't know what I'll do.
It's going to be a struggle.
The box is only temporary.

I don't know what I've realised or what's forced my mood down. I think it's something to do with regret.
I don't know my future at all. I'm completely uncertain of it. I used to be very certain. Though there were certain... ideas in my mind, I didn't ever seriously think I'd act on them, even when I did attempt. I just assumed that my life would continue, I didn't really... think. Now, I may have made plans for my future, which is something I hadn't done before, and I may appear more certain, but I'm less and less sure of anything now. My moods are going from extreme to extreme within the space of a few hours. At about 4:30 today I was good; happy, jubilant and full of fulfillment. I was feeling great, and that's not even exaggerating. By 5, my mood had started decreasing. Now I'm nearly at the stage I was on the weekend. I can't focus on anything and I think a lack of sleep will be something that will feature heavily tonight. I hate this. I hate not knowing what my mood will be or whether there's chances I'll go to extremes, because I can just... never tell. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I want to actually have a reason to be feeling the way I do, I want to know why I'm feeling how I do, whether it be fantastic or rock bottom. Can I not justify my own feelings?
I want to know whether there's a chance I'll be gone by next month, or the month after, or by the end of the year. I want to be in control of myself. That's what I hate. Not even being able to control myself, whether it be my thoughts, actions, or feelings. I don't want to be dead and not even know the reason why I've done it, let alone having anyone else know it.
I hate this. I hate not being in control. I used to have it, I swear I did. Can someone find it and give it back? Otherwise I'm scared. Not for myself, but that I'll hurt people. That's the last thing on earth I want to do, and if I do, I want to avoid hurting them as much as I possibly can.
I need to change my mindset. I don't know where to begin. I don't want to hurt others, but neither do I want to hurt myself.

There's no single sentence that can be said that can change things. But a build up of positive words and encouragement might be able to. Over a long, long time. Individual people at your level really don't have that much emotional power, unless you give that power to them.
Everyone is different. You can't offer the same advice to every single person. But a general piece of advice can help a lot.
I'm glad I've written so much this weekend. It's got me to think and consider quite a lot. I've been arguing with myself, and agreeing and disagreeing with others and hating myself for the step by step analytical processes I'm going through, that I go through in every conversation or interaction with others, especially once it's passed.

I thrive on social interaction, but I'm a pretty lonely person, if that makes sense. I take people in as friends and I kind of develop this network about myself, with me in the centre, and I'll try and help and smile and nod and be friendly. It's an odd thing. When I want to be friends with a person, if they're a reachable person, I'll sooner or later end up friends with them. People are drawn to me, and I'm drawn to them, but I try and give more than I get because the people I'm friends with aren't generally too comfortable or at ease with the concept that they matter, and they need to know they do.

I'm no wordsmith, my words have become clumsy.
But I see exactly what people are trying to say, and it's exactly what I would say, or a variation, in their position. But because I've offered the same advice I can't accept it, a self-esteem complex. I need to look at myself more objectively. I need to see what it is that others see in me, that makes me worthwhile. Looking at myself I see nothing that is respectable, not one quality that I love or even respect about myself. In everyone else, even those I intensely dislike, there is at least one redeeming quality, yet I can't find it anywhere on my person.
And yet I've had friends that have stuck by me for years when I've begun to drift away from them, when I've begun to attempt to push myself away a couple of times over the past year because I've been so hell bent on suicide, yet I couldn't let myself hurt anyone. That's the only reason I'm not dead already; I've tried, but haven't managed to make people hate me, and I feel guilty. I've written about last August, collapsing and sobbing one Monday afternoon on the platform because I couldn't manage to bring myself to hurt all the people I would hurt. At the moment I'm regretting it a lot, because of the introduction of people into my life since then that would be even more deeply affected if I did.
Somehow two people have fallen for me, neither of which I can believe, one I didn't even know until our breakup, and one that's making me feel like perhaps there is some form of light, no matter how dim, in between the diving tunnels of depression.
 Last year, as a sort of joke, I said to people "The only thing I like about myself is that I'm an individual, but I don't even admire the factors that contribute to me being one."
It isn't a joke anymore.

I want to return the the blissful ignorance of a child. The last time I was happy for more than a week was when I was about seven. Now happiness is something I might experience once a week, for maybe three hours, and it's something I rely on one person to give, which probably isn't a good thing.
I don't know why I'm so negative towards myself. Over the years I've just come to disregard myself as a friend and more as an enemy who is trying to sabotage everything good in my life.

I've spoken to people. There's nothing about me that they can pinpoint that they like. So I find it hard to believe they like anything, and are only friends with me out of sympathy or some sort of sadistic desire. For a few months a couple of years back I believed myself to be living in a Truman Show-esque world; not as elaborate, but as in my existence was purely for the entertainment of others, and all friends I had would be malicious and spread what I told. Luckily, I'm not under that sort of irrational influence anymore, but the paranoia that enabled me to imagine it is still a strong force in my mind.

I don't blame anyone else for my circumstances, I don't blame anyone else for my depression, I don't even blame my circumstances for depression. I blame myself, because really, what's to be blamed other than my interpretation, analysis, and viewpoint on the ideas and events and people I'm subjected to. My life is fine, my life is good even. I'm perfectly happy with my life, aside from the fact that I'm in it.

I'm perfectly willing to put in the hard yards, but if putting in the hard yards is something I'm going to have to do all my life to keep myself even at mediocre levels of emotion, then it's something I don't want to do. I want to get better, but I want to be able to stay at the level of okayness that is required for an honest response to "How are you" that won't make them worry, without taking into account struggling through all the other circumstances in my life that will give me trouble on top of depression. I'm not even asking to be happy at all, I don't care if all my happiness is taken away as long as I'm not sinking into bouts of severe, crippling depression every couple of years. But that's something medication or counselling won't give me, it'll help me hover at the nearest reaches to depression most experience, but I want to at least be more than that. And I'm not relying on something that's going to be either a hindrance to either my financial supplies or take away my responsibility to myself. I have a responsibility to myself to keep me at levels of stable emotion, if I can't even do that then what sort of person am I?
Learned helplessness is something that I've looked into; it seems to be something caused by circumstances rather than anything else, and my circumstances have not made me, I have. Of course, they've contributed, but it's my reaction to the circumstances that have made me as a person. The only thing I could perhaps think to relate it to is that maybe I've experienced depression enough times that I've learned to be defeatist over my circumstances, I've learned to accept that this is what it will be all my life. And that's not quite relatable, because that's true, I'm not leading myself to misconceptions.

This blog is one of the only things nowadays  that isn't a cry for attention, is a simple expression of my feelings escaping the craving I have to be surrounded and filled with noise, colour, laughter and light. Now my thoughts have turned towards this again, it's invaded. And the worst thing is, I don't seem to mind.

Brittany.

Don't tell me to talk to people.
Talking to people makes me feel worse.
It's also entirely redundant. There's nothing wrong with my life. I've got friends who genuinely care for me, I've got a close family, and someone I love more than anything.

The only real problem in that equation is me. My outlook, and the fact that everyone I interact with is immediately worse off for knowing me. And it can't be solved.

I don't WANT to feel better, not if it means that I'm just going to put off feeling this low for a year. And that's what will fucking happen.
There's a history of depression in my family, my dad's side at least. I've inherited something very similar to his personality. I've seen how much he makes everyone else suffer as a result of his depression. I don't want that to become a feature of my life, nor anyone elses. And he doesn't know he's doing it. Meaning I won't either.

If I go on living, I'm going to keep wanting to kill myself. And that's going to keep fucking happening through my life, there's nothing I can do to change it other than constant psychiatric appointments or constant medication, and I am never ever letting myself become dependant on anything like that, I find it abhorrent. I already hate myself enough as it is, if I live off that it'll make me hate myself even more.

I know it'll affect other people negatively, but just me going on fucking living and going through this every fucking year or two or three is going to mean me fucking suffering. There's nothing anyone can do about it, and I just wish they could fucking see that. Every single fucking person who's known about it has tried their best to help me, and they're all beautiful, amazing people and I love them to bits, but it won't work. It won't, because I can't be helped. I HAVE accepted it before, and it worked... temporarily. There is no fucking permanent cure and I don't want to live it it means this will keep on happening, and that's a fucking certainty.

The thing is, I've taken all the advice. I've seen professionals, I've talked to friends, I've briefly taken medication, and I've cried so much it's a wonder there's any water in my body.
I lie though, and I'm a good liar. I don't want to make people worry, so I don't say anything that will make them worry. Well, I say enough to make them think a little, but I don't reveal almost anything.
I can't stop myself lying either. I've seen the consequences of not lying to people and what it can do, and it hurts to see people hurting for me when I'm not worth it. And it's not a barrier; it could be easily overstepped if I wanted to overstep it. I've talked so much to counsellors and psychologists that I know it's not going to help. I sound like a teenager with stupid problems going through hormones. I'm pretty sure thinking about suicide every night isn't a hormonal thing.

I don't WANT to hurt people, not at all. I don't want to be remembered for suicide, but I don't want to live my life being so down that I hurt people around me. And that's what will happen. If I keep on living, then I'm just going to make everyone around me feel worse. I don't want to go through this spiral of downward emotion every few years, I don't want to be put in that pain all the fucking time. It's hard enough to deal with now, and at the moment it's only happened three times.
If I go, it's like ripping off a bandaid. Sure, it'll hurt like hell, but it's better than a slow, dull ache that continues for the duration of the time that people keep on knowing me. I'm doing it for selfish reasons, sure, but I'm also doing it for reasons that will benefit people. I'd hate to go my life depending on medication, or depending on professional help to get me through the act of simply managing to get up in the morning. That's just going to drain resources, and everyone who knows me, who knows of this, who cares, who is close will feel obligated to stay by my side for fear of setting it off.  I don't want people to constantly tiptoe around me.  I'm not special.
Talking to people doesn't help. To sort myself out I'd have too spend 23 hours a day talking. And I talk a damn lot on here, too much already.

I know people care, but I doubt they want me being a constant reminder of guilt or worry or sadness or fear through their knowing me.

... What's the point of trying to pull myself out of it? What's the point of seeing a psychologist, what's the point of taking medication? It's happened 3 times in the past three years, feeling as low as this, playing with the idea of suicide.
Suicide. There, I've said it. It's a word I shy away from. It seems too blunt, too forthright, too hurtful. But what's the point of disguising if there's a pretty strong chance it'll happen anyway? I'm sure the act would hurt people far more than the word itself, though it's better for them. They won't realise that though, not now, and not ever.
I've considered it from every angle. I don't see how it couldn't possibly benefit everyone in the long run.
If I've succumbed to feeling like this three times in the past three years, then I'm pretty sure it's an issue that's going to come up often in my life. I don't want to burden people with responsibility every fucking year- they take it up on their shoulders when I let myself speak. They shouldn't, but they do. And to make it worse, I'm a fucking attention seeker. I crave attention like it's my lifeblood, a lifeblood constantly draining away from me and I gather in more and more and more and I let it sweep out as it all bunches in from the top. So people can't help knowing, and I can't stop myself from trying to get attention. I'm a fucking monster, I spring guilt on people.
I don't want to go through that every year, or every two years, or every three for the rest of my life. And neither do I want to rely on friends, or neighbours. And  don't want to spare the expense of a psychiatrist or psychologist or medication to treat depression or bipolarity, whatever I have, for however long my existence is. It's painful enough as it is, going to bed wanting to run to the train station every night and fall asleep on the tracks. I can't remember the last night I wasn't crying. Last night I stopped in the middle of the hallway and collapsed on the floor and sobbed, and shook, and cried inhumanly. I don't even know how those sounds came out of my mouth. I fainted because I couldn't breathe. I was literally choking on my own sobs and I couldn't get any air in.
I know it's not a brave way out, I know it's a cowards choice, but I've never professed to being anything but a coward. I don't have anything to live for. What I would have to live for would be better off if I was gone.
I don't want to continue being a burden to the world for the rest of my life. If I end that 'rest of my life' soon, then I won't have affected it too negatively, yet.

Pretty sound argument, I think.

I don't think I'll last the year.

And today it comes crashing down.

Can I sit in my room and do a mixture of cry, sleep, and eat for the next three days? It'll be a lot more productive than anything I'd manage to do at school.
Oh fun. Maths test which I'll fail and Literature essay, again, something I'll fail.
I don't feel up to anything, but I have to.

I want to talk to someone. I actually do. I don't want to burden them though, I don't want to put responsibility or pressure on them. I don't want them to worry, not about someone as insignificant as me. But I want to talk and cry for hours and hours and hours.
Goddamn weak.

First night in a while I feel halfway decent about myself.

Good, for all intents and purposes.
Good, because nothing has happened to make me bad.
Good, because though I feel like crying, there's no reason to.

What the hell. Honestly Brittany, get it over with. Everyone will be better off in the long run.
You coward.

Ugh. People are never what you think they are. They're never as good or as bad as you make them.

It's only later you realise what they were, and even then you don't know what they are, you know what they put themselves as, it's what they are to you.

Sometimes I really wish I had someone who knew me.

I noticed on Facebook today that a few people joined groups and posted statuses saying R.I.P for a particular boy. He didn't go to my school, but I know a lot of people who knew him. I went on the group's wall and saw so many consoling messages... "You will be missed, you were such a lovely face to see, always smiling." and a lot of messages that were similar.
Curiousity killed the cat. I wanted to know how someone that young could have been affected in such a way. So I went to his profile, and I scrolled down a bit and saw a couple of messages. "...I wish I'd talked to you more, and helped you more, and tried more, maybe I could of changed something..." and "i'm sorry that you felt that this was the only way out."
So I've kind of gathered how. And now I feel guilty. Not because of that, but because of what I've considered and how it could affect people.
The trouble is, it doesn't deter me. Nothing seems sincere, it all seems like empty words and pats on the shoulder, maybe a shoulder to cry on. You can't pat someone on the shoulder who no longer exists, you can't offer a helping hand to someone who no longer needs it.
Show love before someone could be forced to that. Words don't mean anything once it's done.
I try to find the time to tell people what they mean to me, or have meant, because it's nothing, nothing at all when they're gone.
If I go I don't want people who know me because they passed me walking to my next class commenting on my wall saying "You were always such a happy person."
They don't know shit.
I want the people I care for to be there before I go, and if I go I don't want them feeling like shit because they didn't try. Telling people what they mean isn't hard, and it's all you have to do if you actually give a shit about them.
The poor kid. I wish it hadn't come to this for him, it must be terrible for his family and friends.

the morning and the night are your weakest points.
thoughts become dark then
scars become tempting
one deep red line after another
in the light they're covered

you're a fool
you're a weak fool and you deserve nothing better.

so you had a high today?
you woke up feeling like shit. the first words said on the bus made you feel worse. as the day progresses you begin to dread your next class. yet it's that class which gives you a high. And then down you sink.

Fucking hell, I'm starting to spiral and it's another fucking hole.

I'm prompting nostalgia.

I'm looking back through old photos, as in, photos from before I even got the camera I have now. It's really saddening seeing how people have changed and how my friendships have deteriorated. It's sad how I've changed, I'm more ashamed of myself now than I ever was. I'm blasting myself with an onslaught of songs I listened to about two or three years ago. I feel like going back there. Even though in terms of sadness, it was a lot more frequent. I miss my relationships from there. I miss the friends I had, I miss who I was, I miss how we meshed, and it's annoyingly depressing that I'll never have that back because of how people have changed, but more how I've allowed myself to change.
I've built upon a cover ever since I started high school. In year nine and ten, I somewhat liked the cover I had. Now I don't.
Ugh. I feel bad for saying this though, because in one way my life is a lot better.

FUCKING HELL BRITTANY ARE YOU TRYING TO CHASE PEOPLE AWAY FROM YOU?

You want to know the answer? Do you really fucking want to know the answer?
It's yes.
Yes.
Because you hope it'll make it easier for everyone in the eventuality that you go. No, eventuality is pessimistic. The possibility. The possibility that you go.
You are losing friends purposefully. But you can't tell them to their face. They've got to make the decision, you're trying to help them along. Because apparently you know what will be the right decision. You know what will hurt them the least.
You can judge people, you pessimistic manipulative bitch, but you can't judge a persons emotions. Or thoughts. You think they aren't going to figure out that you're making yourself a bitch, making yourself blunt and honest and forthright, but painfully so? Do you think they aren't going to notice you pushing yourself away? Do you think they'll notice the flood of negative emotion streaming from you?
They'll know.
If you survive this year, if you get through the shithole of emotions and friends and people that is school, if you get onto uni, maybe you will have a chance. You might change your whole outlook on life.
But pushing everyone away isn't going to fucking change that. You need people to help you fucking cope.
Or do you think you can do it on your own?
That's what you're trying to convince yourself. You're fucking weak Brittany. You're the weakest person I've ever had the misfortune to meet. And fuck me, I happen to fall into the path of living your life. You can't do it yourself.
Do you want to die?
You refuse your friends, you refuse your mother, you refuse your boyfriend (fucking hell that WORD), you refuse a doctor you refuse a counsellor yourefuseafuckingtrainedprofessionalpsychologist. Do you want to cause people pain?
No, but you believe you're worthless, you believe it's the only way out. You aren't worthless. Either that, or you're a liar and a hypocrite. How many people have you assured of their self worth? How many people have you comforted?
You've saved more than one person from what you're thinking about, yet you choose to perhaps do what you've persuaded them against? You choose to believe you're worthless, despite the fact that you've told them that everyone has worth?

At the moment you're spending every night and most mornings thinking about it. You lie in bed and almost miss the bus because you're thinking about timing. Night, morning? You figured out how you would do it. You figured that out a while ago. Last August. But you didn't go through with it, because you're a coward. This time though, you think you're breaking. The  down periods are coming often and with little interval. Don't you want to save yourself? At least try.

Brittany, every teenager has been a burden to their mother. Maybe not in quite the way you have. Every teenager has had negative impact on life, unless you're Mother Theresa in disguise, and  I'm sure she stepped on a few ants.
You've helped save people's fucking lives, you've been told more than once. Isn't that redemption enough? Doesn't that show you're worth something?
You're never going to believe that though. Because the negative side of you is always going to win. And if the positive side of you believes half the things the negative side of you does, you're screwed.
Do one thing for me though? Get through this year. Just try. Things could get better.

Then again they could always get worse.
If they get much worse then away you go.

... what happens if I want to destroy myself? What happens if everyone deserves at least that much?

Okay, whatever, two blogs in one night though no-one reads them.. pointless.

I just saw a facebook status about a female not shaving their head for the World's Greatest Shave this year because of the school ball. That's understandable, I'm doing the same. I just wanted to bring up something my brother said in relation.

I informed him that if it wasn't for the school ball I'd be shaving my head this year. He was incredibly shocked and told me I was an idiot and asked if I was joking multiple times. I told him no, so he started swearing at me. He said he wouldn't speak to me if I did it, that he'd actually hate me.
I asked him why, and he told me it would make people make fun of him.
It's somewhat upsetting to know that I'm going to be made fun of for supporting a charity and supporting the Leukemia Foundation. Are people really that inhospitable?
Would you make fun of a girl with cancer who was bald?
I doubt it.
Why make fun of a girl supporting it?

I'm not really sure why I keep a blog. Originally it was to get my thoughts and opinions across. But it's turned into a personal rant, whether it be on the side of happy or not.
I feel as though I've made quite a few changes to my life recently, but when I look back it's only one change that's actually affected anything. By recently I mean in the past month or so. Am I happy? I don't know. But I'm having my moments.
My life is centred around schoolwork and another person. Nothing else is contributing, really. I'm trying to eradicate outside influence at the moment, shutting out outlets and people I don't want to be involved with. To be honest, I don't want to be involved with anyone, because I affect most of the people's lives I'm involved in negatively. That isn't a complaint, it's a statement of truth.
I really just want school to be over with at the moment. I'll move on to university then, which means more work, but it's centred around the subjects I want to continue with in life. And it leaves a lot of gaps for free time, and I can take up some opportunities and erase the false identity I have for myself in school. I'm tired of being selfish, I'm tired of having other people's expectations and memories of past experiences influence my behaviour. I'm tired of things I've grown out of.
I'm going to go to university, make new friends, shave my head, and start over.
I still have a year left. And I'm going to need to work hard in that year. I'm not erasing the opportunity I have for life.
Why did I write this? I don't know.
Procrastination. That's a good start isn't it?

It'd be so fucking easy.

Fucking jump, you deserve nothing better.

I'm spinning.

But slowly. And every time I turn around 180 degrees I have the flip side of my emotions before.
It goes at a pretty gradual rate occasionally. I think I'm being wound up. I see the positive side of life, and then I turn around to face the negative side again. This goes over and over.
At the point I'm at now it's moving rapidly. I'm pretty sure I've been wound up, and now I've been released.
I'm seeing the good side now.

Someone get some juice in the mechanics so I won't be flung around to the bad side.

I feel overwhelmed.
The stress knots in the top of my back are worse than they've ever been; I swear they're completely solid. The amount of sleep I've been getting has been so minimal it isn't funny. I'm getting less than I was in the holidays, and not purposefully either. The amount of problems I've heard recently has caused me to be ridiculously worried for my friends and for my friendships with them. I'm easily angered, and annoyed by certain people. I'm attacked by emotion and by a sense of needing to belong. I've got homework for an average of two or three hours an afternoon.
What makes it worse is that every night I'm hit by a longing to have his arms around me or his breath on the back of my neck or his voice in my ear or his lips on mine. Which sounds ridiculous, because I am so judgmental of couples who can't seem to stay away from each other, yet I wish I could do the same. Hypocrite? Yes. Maybe I'll stop harbouring that belief now I know what it feels like.
I spent so much time with him in the holidays that I'm struck by a need for that once again. And it can't happen. The most we get is 50 minutes a day and a few hours on a Saturday.

However, despite my frustrations across pretty much all areas of my life, I'm happy, especially for me. The day I started school I started going cycling in the morning. I don't doubt the power of exercise to boost mood any longer.
School still manages to suck the good mood right out of my day, but at least I've got the mood booster in the morning.

Pointless post, I just needed to write and I had nothing much to say.

Don't you love how I go to bed when I say I do?

I don't love the part that I'm getting up at 6 or so for a bike ride, and knowing me I'll probably be on here another hour. Ah well. Reap the benefits but deal with the consequences.

I love and hate looking through old photos and posts of mine and others. Makes me feel regretful and happy and thankful and hateful.
Looking through different stages of just the past year has given me such a mixture of emotions.
Mostly happiness at my current stage and how different it was to just over 5 months ago, or anywhere between then and the beginning of that year. But sadness at some choices I made that would have been better avoided.
I don't regret the choices however, only that I wasn't smart enough to see that they would impact me negatively at the time. Every experience in my life adds to the person I am, and though that person isn't the most likeable person in the world, I don't know, with the personality I have, I could ever be happy with myself. So I'm as happy as I could possibly be as a result of the decisions I've made and the effort I've made to drag myself out of some recent... bad... moods.
I'm wondering at the possibility of lies, but surprisingly I find myself not that bothered by them, though of course honesty is the best policy.
Lies are something I'm quite heavily involved with, so I can't claim to be bothered by liars.
Last year was a good, amazing, terrible year.
And it was full of contradictions.
Go figure.

And Blogger.

Youtube and MSN. Mind you, I just haven't made a decision on them. Might be them too.

The power of the mobile phone and the removal of attention seeking infantile posts and statuses sound like a good idea for a few days. Heck, I might give up the recreational use of the computer at all, I'm in the mood.

Goodnight.

11-ish PM, 26th Dec, 2009

You never know... People don't give a... No one ever knows. It's all... a rollercoaster of thought, with enough loops to keep you insane. You're pushing it, not treads, tracks, or electricity. You. And you don't know where you are finding it. There's a massive reserve of energy somewhere down there, but sometimes it runs out... and you're stuck.
Do you ever wonder how they find out if the seats are faulty? Is someone on there jolted off when it's stopped?

It is a rollercoaster, hey.All different people going "Fuck yeah, this is fun," or "Yeah, it's alright." Some people screaming for the fun of it, some screaming because they think they're gonna die. Some are just bored. "Jeez, I've been on more thrilling rides at the gym.

Funny, because when I'm on a rollercoaster I'd be of the first ones. Although the fuck would have to be taken off come New Year.
But on the rollercoaster we're powering, I'm more the person screaming for the fun of it. I overact myself. When I'm sad, you know. I'm sullen for days. When I'm happy, there's an actual smile fixed to my face that'll take quite a bit to take off. When I'm hyped up, I literally bounce off the walls, or try to.
Though a part of me is the last as well. "When will it end?"
I'm sick of the onslaught of weapons of mass destruction. If they insult me, I don't have my own stock of them. I'm going to throw the very expressions they throw back, though minus the hate. Hate is expensive. It costs wars, it saves people's lives, it destroys them, it wins wars, gains valuable opinions. It's the main cause of the world's problems. So when I get it thrown in my face I draw it in. Sure, some seeps out. I'm not a sponge, and hate is pretty hurtful, but I need my own supply of it. It's more than the equivalent of a nuclear bomb in modern warfare in the world of emotions. I need some to blast to protect myself in the battle of all battles.
I'm not a loved person, I know. By most people, I'm tolerated. There's quite a few who will turn their head in disgust as soon as look at me. But to the very few who welcome me, you're a part of my rollercoaster, and so far the ride hasn't stopped, and you haven't fallen to your deaths as the result of a faulty seat.

Yet.

Goodbye.
Signing off, at 11:32 PM,
Brittany.

Yeah, so I walk into my dads and within the first 10 seconds of seeing him, not even exaggerating, I'm yelled at, I burst into tears and swear at him for the first time in my life. He shouts at me for 'crying woman's tears' and sends me to my room where I sit crying my lungs out for an hour and a half, then just when I've stopped again, he comes in and fucks up my dam, and we talk.

Now he knows everything. Not that he gives a shit.

First reaction when I said it?
Well, here's the conversation.
"You had a bad morning? I have bad mornings all the time. I have chronic depression Brittany, and it's not really like you can go running to your room and crying about it every time something bad happens. I mean, you've got to learn to-"
Tears are streaking down my face even though I'm telling myself to stop being such a pussy and stop crying. I'm fucking hysterical and I can't stop the words coming out of my mouth. "Fuck you Dad. You wanna know something, you really fucking wanna know something? Two fucking years ago I was diagnosed with cllinical depression. I've tried to kill myself four times. You aren't the fucking only one, I know what it's l-"
He holds his arms out as a 'what' type of gesture.
Heavily sarcastic. "Well, thanks for telling me."

So we go on to talk about him, and compare my situation to his, and yeah, apparently because I'm a teenager and a woman I get overly emotional and my depression isn't as severe.

He blames it on my exercise habits, my mother, my lack of friends and my personality, that it's hereditary and because he has it there's a strong possibility I will. Not once does he say it just maybe could be anything to do with him.

So four years of bottling up shit, two years of that being pretty damn serious... and he blames it on something else when he does find out.

What is probably one of the most significant moments of my life, perhaps the most significant, registers as "this is bad, tell her to do something about it then forget about it and move on" in his brain. His advice? Get help. Go swimming. Join a group. Don't be depressed.
Little bit harder than it sounds, Dad.

Ugh. Someone drive me back to camp please. It's only one more night, sure, but I'd still prefer it. I really feel worthless at the moment. I react arbitrarily to insignificant events, and even I look at what I am and think "What the fuck, that doesn't even make sense Brittany. Why on earth would you react like that to something like that?"

I'm too over the top. Too emotional, and too fucking stupid to change it.

I cried so much when I left camp today. Reading all the things that people wrote to me and looking at my fingerknitting and bangles... I feel validated, not to mention completely myself at camp. And that's for around three and a half days straight. At home, I only have moments, and those are fleeting.

I've lost me.

Drive me back to camp where no-one cares who I am, where I can be myself without worrying at all. Let me not shroud myself with pretention.

Fucking hell.

It was my last camp as a kid, I don't think I'll ever feel like that again. I know I'm definitely applying to be a leader, but that'll be a different sense of enjoyment.

I'm going to miss everyone so much.

Rant. Don't read, it's rather pointless and boring, I just need a place to exert my frustration other than my diary.

Denial. Or claimed ignorance. It's a lesson I've learnt all too often. Usually coming from my end.
Whenever I build up the confidence that I actually might be able to start to put my opinions across in a clean and concise manner without being easily swayed, my father comes across and demolishes it. I swear, he's the only person in the world that can affect what I do so easily. Usually, I don't let the thought of other people disapproving get in the way of my actions. Around my father, I tread every step so carefully.
I'm slowly learning to stand up for myself, but it's been a process a year in the making and I'm not even a quarter of the way there.
An example. Nothing like the magnitude or significance of what happened today, but an example.
I know a damnsite more about legal procedures than my father... though I can't say he's not been involved in a few. Over the past year he's been involved in a court case because he's beaten someone up in a pub after they challenged him to a fight. Drunk, of course.
So recently, he was talking about this, and because he's never been in a court case... yes, more than one... on the right side of the law, he has negative feelings towards the police. Corrupt and unjust, the whole lot of them, in his opinion. Especially the Australian police force. He was talking about the police involved in his court case and calling them a bunch of lowlife bastards who should never have been allowed to join in the first place, among many other names. He then goes off on one of his many spiels about how the police force is corrupt, and how the government doesn't give a shit because they prefer the poor kept uneducated and seeing as the poor have nowhere near decent representation in criminal cases, they end up in jail, where they're unlikely really to be uneducated anyway. One of his many conspiracy theories, though this one may hold more than a grain of truth.
Then I pipe up, feeling pretty confident about what I'm about to say. I ask him where Australia would be, where any free and democratic country would be, without the police force, without some system of enforcing justice on people? I then make the point that we're better off with a police force than without them- some corruption is better than no justice at all. He looks at me like I'm stupid for even suggesting that, crushes my argument within about ten seconds with completely unreasonable, invalid, and in parts untruthful points... none of which I can remember, yet at the time I thought they made complete sense... then completely dismisses my opinion and yells at me for an hour for being a smartmouth.
Thing is about my dad... he tells us to put our opinions across, then when we do, he dismisses them or ignores them. So I've taken to an "I don't know." or a simple shrug of the shoulders approach, which leads him to then talk about the political and social ignorance about teenagers today, and in general just the dumbing down of the population through pop music, sitcoms, and unintelligent movies- all apparently a scheme by the government to keep people uneducated. I nod and look him in the eye, then listen to him talk about women in a demeaning way, telling me that they destroy a mans life and don't ever give anything back, and always take something for nothing. Then he backtracks and tells me, "Oh, Brittany, not all women are like that"- when he's just said the exact opposite-"Maybe you'll find a happy and balanced relationship."
He continues to call my mother a pussy-licking lesbian bitch who destroyed our lives, our being us kids. Especially my sister. He tells me that my sister used to be a happy, exuberant little girl, albeit with downsyndrome, but she progressed well and was friendly. And to be honest, he destroyed her life more. His three hour long, top-of-his-voice rants which caused all three of us kids to shrink into a corner when we were below ten years old destroyed mine and my sisters confidence. If we'd still been living with him, I think there's over a 50% chance I wouldn't exist as a life on Earth.
I've tried to stick up for my mum a few times. Told him she's not destroyed my life, she's not a lesbian, and even if she were, what of it? What's wrong with being attracted to the same gender? But no. My mother has quite obviously destroyed my life and my livelihood, and any non heterosexual relationship is quite obviously wrong and unnatural.
I'm so ridiculously tempted to tell him. Say "Well, who do you think has destroyed my life, at least, more? Who's comforted me as I've tried to get through a three year long battle with depression? Who's the person I trust to tell that I've tried to kill myself four times? Who's the cause of that?"

I hide everything from my dad. In the car on the way home tonight, I realised just how much. He asked me what I was doing tomorrow. I assumed it was because he wanted to see me, and I'm pretty sure I was right. I told him I had a doctors appointment at 1:30. He asked why, and I almost answered him. But I didn't. I realised it wouldn't be a good idea. So I replied "Oh, I'm... (insert an oh shit oh shit oh shit here)... just going in for a checkup.
He nodded from the front seat, and asked if it was just the local one. No, I said, and he said the local one was shit.
I agreed with him, and said we'd transferred our family doctor to Belridge Medical Centre or clinic, because I'd went there before when I (insert another oh shit oh shit oh shit here)... had something go wrong.
That's how much my father doesn't know about me. I got hit by a car a year and two months ago, and if I hadn't been wearing a helmet there's an almost certainty I would have died. (There's a safety lesson thrown in for you, kids.) I went to Belridge Medical Clinic for treatment. I was limping heavily for about three weeks, with bruises all down the left side of my body. My dad didn't notice a thing, and I see him twice a week.

Inobservant prick.
And on that note, I'll leave you to your doings. Thanks for reading. though I doubt it's a good thing that you've read. You're probably bored shitless and you know a lot about my personal life. Yay for being open. Not.