... 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.