July 28th, 2005

I’m not completely honest with you, Internet. I’m not completely honest with anyone, including myself. I find this odd, because I’m really big on honesty.

Before I continue on, I will be writing this in stages and hitting “publish” because I do not know how long it will take me to write this and I do not want to chicken out.

If you ask me how I am, I will most always answer “fine.” I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. My therapist? My doctor? FINE. Let me do a dance to show you how fine I am.

All the while, I’m thinking to myself that I want to hurt myself, hurt myself badly so you’d see how much I am hurting. I guess I’ve always struggled with depression though as a teenager, it was easy to mask it off as something else.

I’ve been anorexic. I’ve been bulemic. I’ve been outgoing. I’ve been withdrawn. A bitch. Friendly. Everything.

All I keep thinking to myself these past few days is “why is it getting worse as I get older?” I’m 25 and it is bad. I can’t imagine how I will feel when I get older. I do not want to die, but I keep thinking to myself that death is better than this.

It doesn’t make sense. I have no intentions of doing anything like that to myself, but I feel like saying that to myself is the only thing that seems to fit how I feel.

I went to the mall today. I didn’t even make one lap around the lower level before I had to leave. I didn’t want to cry in public. Either I would leave or I’d have to call someone to come help me. I couldn’t stay there any longer. I couldn’t stay around the people eating their ice cream, looking for back to school clothes.

I look at my daughter and tell her I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t understand what she wants. I’m sorry she ended up with someone like me, someone that struggles with something she can’t understand.

I feel like I’ve tried everything. I went and got “help.” My help told me to tell my husband to get a weekend job. My “help” keeps suggesting options that involve money. My help just doesn’t get it that the money tree did not get planted in front of our apartment.

I feel sad because of all the people who know me in real life are going to read this. I don’t want them to feel like it is their fault. My husband and my child are the best things in my life. They make me happy.

Nobody wants to change the meds on a pregnant person. I’m not going to end this pregnancy. At the same time, I wonder how I’m going to keep going through this. What if I get put on another medicine and my baby comes out with three heads and one of them looks like Edgar Allen Poe?

I wish we never went to Tulsa. I had fun, but it wasn’t a “vacation” for me. Vacation doesn’t count as going somewhere else and doing the same stuff I do here. Other people don’t bring their stapelers and TPS reports with them to the beach; that’s why it is a vacation.

I want to leave and go somewhere with The Hubs. Somewhere where it isn’t as hot as here.

I want to get better and feel better. I don’t know what to do. I want someone to magically show up at my doorstep and help me. I want SuperNanny to come and change the diapers and give me a big dose of something that will make me feel good.

Does the super nanny prescribe meds?

I hesitate about putting anything online. I wait for the people to come along and tell me how “lucky” I am to be able to have children. I wait for the people to call me stupid for getting pregnant. I wait for the stupid advice, not just the “see a doctor” advice but the STUPIDEST advice ever. I’d tell you what this is, but I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

This advice was that stupid.

I look at my site meters and say “I do not know why you are reading this. You are wasting your time. I’m not funny anymore. I’m stupid and horrible and you should find someone that makes you laugh.”

I see what I want for myself. I see it. It’s right there, saying “Hi” and patting me on the head. At the same time, this other person, called “I hate you” is kicking me in the side, threatening me with wedgies and bad spankings.

I have moments when I feel I can make it work. But then there are the moments like today. Look at me, I’m dressed in a pretty skirt. My hair is up and my makeup is on. I have a beautiful baby, walking around the mall.

The entire time, all I could think is “I wonder if anyone else here wants to hurt herself?”

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