Wednesday, November 28, 2007


M. is asleep. The kittens are tearing around in their nightly spazz. I am not asleep, obviously. I lay there for about 45 minutes feeling miserable and depressed and then took a sleeping pill and came to write here. I didn;t want to take a sleeping pill because I took one last night and I hate taking them two days in a row. Actually, I hate taking them at all, but I need them more and more the more depressed I get. I used to be able to take one a week and that would set me up fine, but now. But now it;s not like that.

I also don;t like taking them because it seems to make me more depressed the next day, which is also different. It used to be, I;d take a pill and feel really happy the next day after a good night's rest. Now it's not like that, either.

It's very cold out and cold inside and cold inside me.

I'm getting really tired of this diet thing. I have 30 lbs yet to lose, too. And lately I can;t get excited about it. I just feel deprived and think of all the foods I would like to be eating--fettucini alfredo is much on my mind. I hate writing down what I eat every day. I try to force myself to exercise and I can;t do it and hate myself, both for not doing it and for the fact that I have to force it. Force feels like hurting myself and it makes me want to hurt myself more. This is crazy, I know, but there it is. I feel that I should be punished.

My therapist tells me I need to stop beating myself up, but I can;t seem to. It's a way of life that was instilled in me from the time I can rememeber.

Sometimes I wish I would just contract some terminal disease. It almost seems it would be a relief. Not to have to struggle with this anymore.

I'm in a bad way. Lately I;ve been thinking again that I won;t be here long, that I won't make it through the winter. I don't know why or how. The not being doesn't scare me but the process of it does. Mostly because it's so lonely. Everyone is born alone and everyone dies alone, in the end. No one can do it for you or really be there for you. It's very personal and private.

Yet I don't feel suicidal. I don't feel that I want to actively MAKE myself not be. I just want to not be anymore. No--I don;t want to kill myself, just hurt myself. And the hurting can get out of control when you;re alone with it; I know that from past experience. But I want the hurting to stop. And the only way of it stopping that I know is not to be. I guess that's why I spend so much time in this grey state of sitting on the couch just staring at the walls. Not being while existing. And that is painful in and of itself.

I think it would bebetter if I could cry over it or have some reaction to it at all. But the tears are all dried up; I've cried too much. Sometimes in therapy they come out, but it's without volition or connection to anything. They just come and have no more meaning than anything else. They offer no release. No catharsis. I think that's because the pain is so old, maybe. I have nothing in my life to be sad over and it troubles me that I can feel this way without its having a direct cause. When I was younger and living in a dysfunctional and abusive environment, okay, I can see why I cried a lot. But now it's just as dull and boring as anything else in my life.

I feel very exposed writing this in my blog. But that doesn't keep me from doing it.

Well, my last cigarette is spent and I think the pill is kicking in so maybe it;s time to try this bed thing again...

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