I'm on the brink of tears and my stomach feels sick so I'm just going to blog until it goes away and I'm not going to apologize for being the most depressing fucker around. It's my blog, your choice to read it and I can't control my feelings. See what I did there.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. My anxiety's killing me lately. I can't function like an ordinary person. I can't seem to be happy about anything anymore. My depression's killing me. My self image is killing me. My loneliness is killing me. My lack of motivation is killing me. These new pills aren't doing shit and when I went for my biweekly dr appointment, she said "Well, you haven't killed yourself..."

Yes, thank you, my incredibly useful doctor. It's true, I haven't killed myself. Does that make this any less horrible? Hell, I'll be honest, I've been cutting again for months. Last week I had an anxiety attack over eating fucking pizza. Pizza. I fucking love pizza, what the hell is wrong with me? I can hardly enjoy spending time with Jake anymore, because half of the time my mind's screaming at me that I'm a disgusting, worthless, unloveable ball of shit and the other half of the time it's screaming not to trust a word he says. I can't leave him though because I need him more than ever through all this. I'm not even honest with him though. He doesn't know the gravity of this and yet he's the only person who I let attempt to help me. I don't know if it's because he doesn't understand or because I'm not explaining. It's painful though. (Elaboration, it's not all horrible, sometimes I'm really happy with him, like I used to be.) I can'tcan'tcan't keep being a burden though. Not to him, not to my friends, not to my family. I've put off an english assignment for like a month now because the work just makes me want to cry. It's easy and I could get a great work on it so why can't I just fucking do it. I can't do any of the studio work for my art classes (like using the printing presses) when there's more than 4 people in the room without panicking and leaving. The list goes on, but I won't post that here. I just keep piling on various means of escapism, one after the other, hoping one day I'll wake up from my mindless fog and find everything's blown away in the wind. So yes doctor, I haven't killed myself, but every day it gets more difficult not to. My body's here, but my insides feel withered. Most of the time, this just doesn't feel like living.

I have to go back to the stupid hospital and see the damn psychiatrist again, so once again I get to listen to the ordinary spew about "depression is treatable" "social anxiety is treatable" "treatabletreatabletreatable". I just want to feel better, but I can't even conjure up a world in my mind where I'm "better". They say there's no cure to depression, it just becomes manageable. Well I don't want to just manage it. I don't want to live like this. Just make it go away.