Missing Caitlin. If I had a penny for every time I’ve wanted to talk to her after her death, I’d be a multi-millionaire. There’s so much shit that I still want to do with her, things I want to share with her.
I’m bitter, sad, angry. Bitter because during he last days she wanted to live. Sad because her life was cut short. Angry with her so-called “God”.
I want to cut. I want to cry. I want to kill things.
It’s so easy to destroy everything.
When the fuck do I get out of this bullshit world?! It’s so disgusting with all these vices and the inability to do something without money. Druggies, alcoholics, and societies based on money and depravity just piss me off so much! Humanity should be wiped out completely. Every last person and every evolutionary link to humankind needs to be annihilated.
One of the things I got for Christmas, shittiest day of the year, was an Acer laptop. The most bitchiest piece of shit 3\/4R. Yes, that needed 1337 speak. I do believe I put down “MacBook Pro” on my list. And now they are trying to tell me that I wanted this piece of shit instead. I never said I wanted a laptop to game on. Never said that I wanted this crazy Dolby/Cine sound thing in a laptop. This thing is full of GRRRRRR. I just wanted a laptop where I could get wireless internet. This one won’t let me install the drivers because it is fucking stupid. I should bury it somewhere.
“Scream all you want; no one’s listening” That’s Caitlin’s MSN message. And I swear to God it’s the truth.
Can’t you hear me? I’m screaming, scatching at the walls. I want out! Can’t you hear me over the deafening silence? No, you’re too busy looking away, listening to other people. When will you notice me? When I’m legally declared crazy? When I’ve finally grown the balls to kill myself? No, that’s too long. I can’t be saved then.
If you do something now, I can be saved, I’ll retain my sanity. I won’t feel that urge to toss myself in front of speeding vehicles anymore, or daydream of OD’ing on sleeping pills. Save me, you motherfucker. I can’t get myself out of this hole by myself. All you have to do is give me a hand, a referral to a psychiatrist. I’ll get better, I swear. I don’t WANT to be suicidal all the time. I don’t WANT to have these crazy high-low episodes. Please, just help me.
Okay, I have been feeling like the living dead just of late. I’m so tired. I can’t figure out a good sleeping pattern so I don’t fall asleep in math. And pretty much every other class.
So, afterschool, I decided to look for the reason why I’m so damn tired. I found this site called Healthline. It allows you to list the symptoms of what you are feeling and it will give you a list of what could be wrong with you. And every time I do the freaking thing, it keeps telling me that I either have major depression or bipolar disorder II.
I don’t like the prospect of being bipolar. And I just so happen to have most of the symptoms of bipolar disorder II. I also know that this thing is not a real diagnosis; as mentioned before, it is only a list of what could be wrong with me. I don’t like it just the same.
I’m tired of this world.
I’m sick of this body.
I’m sick IN this body.
I hate people.
All I want is to be nasty.
To give up and give in to violent self-destruction.
To give in to primal desire.
And destroy everything in sight.
I went to the mall today. The walk there was wonderful; a cool breeze, warm sun, and the smell of food drifting in the air. The mall itself, though, was pretty unpleasant. It was completely crowded (I hate crowds) and people wouldn’t stop looking at me like I was something disgusting. The stores I went to didn’t have what I wanted so I’ll have to order them. On the way home, one of those stupid, yappy little dogs attacked me. Fucking dog.
Why me? Why? I’m not ugly, so there’s no need to stare. I don’t wear outlandish clothing, neither do I wear your stupid Aberzombie & Bitch clothes. I wear plain clothing that is COMFORTABLE. I’m quite aware I have geeky glasses, but, again, this is no reason to stare or glare or frown at me.
On the day that we set out on our returning trip this summer, we visited dad’s mom. I can’t believe she actually asked that to dad within my earshot. While I was less than 4 feet away, no less. I was petting Kitty in the front doorway and they were in the next room over. Out of the blue, she asked dad if I hated my relatives because I don’t talk to anyone. Well, you old wrinkly bitch, it’s kinda hard to get all chatty-like with people you hardly know because you live on the opposite side of the country to them and and you suffer from social anxiety AND all these people you don’t know are crammed in your old mouldy house that’s been standing too long with you and no elbow room. Add to that the sickening smell of various grilled meats and perfume and cologne and dogs. Your house is not a pleasant place. And I don’t find my relatives very pleasant, either.
This sounds so cold, doesn’t it? But it’s me and I can’t change that.
Where to start? The head-first dive into depression? Breaking edge? The broken promise? Sleepless nights? The spiders and all the beetles? My stupid, harpy of a stepmother? My bratty little half brother?
The beginning might be a good place. The drive down wasn’t that bad. Took us 3 and a half days.
We (me, dad, and Vern) got to our summer house late afternoon. It wasn’t more than 4 hours later my brothers Andy and Chris show up with Andy’s girlfriend Jen. They talked our ears off. Then Chris stayed the night. Me and Chris stayed up till 4am talking. We talked about our anxiety, my depression, cutting. He made me promise to stop cutting. Fuck him. He promised me he’d talk to dad about my anxiety and depression so dad would get me to a therapist and on medication. Fuck Chris because he never did a damn thing! Fuck Chris cuz he was so drunk he couldn’t remember a fucking thing. Why the fuck should I honour the promise I made to him if he didn’t honour the promises he made to me? There were other promises, but this one burns the most.
I felt like shit most of the month. I got so depressed at times I wanted to die, or something to distract me from my misery. I wanted to cut so bad, but I thought Chris would pull through with his promises so I didn’t. It was this depression that lead me to breaking edge.
I was invited to stay the night over at Chris’s apartment for the night. Yup. This is where I break edge. I was invited because I was miserable at the family reunion earlier that day. My aunt Sherrie thought it’d be a good idea. Sherrie, Chris, Andy, and my cousin Matt all live in the same area (actually Chris and Andy live in the same apartment building and Sherrie and Matt live in the apartment across from Chris and Andy). Plus, my cousin Amanda was visiting Sherrie (her mother) with her two kids. Amanda and Chris picked me up from North Tay, that’s where the summer house is, and then we went to Sherrie and Matt’s apartment. When we got there, Sherrie was already smashed. It was both sad and hilarious at the same time. We (me, Chris, Matt, Amanda and my cousin Andrew) watched her down a wine glass of gin and orange juice. We laughed as her words got so slurred and as she stumbled around. Then, Sherrie tried to tell me that I didn’t have to drink any beer and stuff like that. She was so far gone. After that, She went to the liquor store with Andy to get more booze. It was after she left that Chris offered me a beer and Matt handed it to me. I WAS going to refuse. For some reason, I couldn’t refuse. Maybe it was because I wanted to drink with them. May be it was my tiny crush on Matt that made me take the beer. Maybe it’s because I don’t have any fucking spine and I felt so much pressure. Anyways, it escalated from there. We went outside and drank more. Went to my cousin Kelly’s party. Drank more there. Nearly passed out on some boy’s bed. Disgusting, isn’t it? I’d love to blame this event on someone, but I know I’m the one at fault. I didn’t have to accept the beer. I could have said no. But I didn’t. SInce then I have been switching between self-pity and self-loathing.
I had lots of nights where I couldn’t sleep. A couple of them were energy drink-induced I know. The rest of them, however, I have no clue what cause was.
Stupid harpy bitch, aka my stepmother Mary Anne, was nothing but bitch bitch bitch, whine whine whine, kvetch kvetch kvetch when she arrived several days later.
And my little brother Vern was horrible. I can’t even express how he acted. The effort of finding the right words is folding my brain into an origami swan.
Lastly, the bugs that resided in that house. It’s like oh em gee! Look at all the spiders and beetles! I killed at least 20 bugs in all. Spiders: I hate them. Especially the one I nick-named Indianna Jones before killing it, as it decided swinging across my room was a novel idea. I didn’t actually mind Indy at first because he was pretty ninja. He managed to get across my room without me noticing and I was looking out for him like a hawk. But Then he had to swing over my bed like the real Indy in Raiders of the Lost Arc. It was lights out for him.
I hate family vacations. Why? They always involve going to New Brunswick and no internet for a month. It also, unfortunately, includes me losing some sanity and becoming suicidal. It’s a nice place to visit for a week or two, but a month? No.
First off, I will be packed into a fully loaded minivan, driven across the country during a 4 or 5 day period, and be forced to eat foods that are not entirely vegetarian-friendly. Secondly, I will have to stay in a house that has been standing in isolation for roughly 200 years. Old houses are not as romantic as they are made out to be. Also, this house has the most hideous wallpaper. Come on! Light pink roses against forest green. *vomit* Thirdly, I will have to stay in Andy’s old room to better preserve my sanity because my room there makes me break down. Fourthly, I will be driven into a minor state of insanity. Fifthly, SPIDERS THE SIZE OF TOONIES. I shall take pictures with my camera to show the world these monstrosities. And the fact that there’s A HUGE FUCKING NEST OF THEM OUTSIDE THE HOUSE. Sixthly, NO INTERWEBS!!!! I shall suffer… Lastly, I will be packed into the van again for a week long trip back. There I will be picking up the pieces of my mind and duct taping them together.
The only thing to look forward to is seeing Andy, Chris, Matt F *swoon*, and Emily. Also, the rest of the cousins, relatives, ect. Why are most of my relatives in New Brunswick? And all-too-soon, it will only be me and Ben living out here in Alberta. Mary Anne and dad are moving back to NB in a bout 5 years.
Speaking of leaving, why do all the people I care about or admire leave me? I find these awesome people, but I never know them for long. It’s cruel.
Every single time you make progress, I swear on my mother’s grave that you sabotage yourself deliberately. People think you’re faking all this for attention. Sometimes I wonder…
Is anger the answer? Are tears the answer? I get so angry. I cry for you. Neither has done much. I feel helpless. I try to do everything I can, but it seems to amount to nothing as you just push help away.
These past months, my mind and my emotions have been playing tug-o-war with my sanity. My emotions have been changing faster than quicksilver can flow and I’ve been arguing with myself about whether I’m depressed, bipolar, depersonalized, or if this is all in my head. I have these surges of frustration, extreme rage and sadistic/murderous feelings. They are brief; they last up to 5 seconds. Brief as they are, I need every ounce of energy in this body to resist hurting and/or killing people around me. I think I can understand what Caitlin said about feeling like it’s either suicide or the injury/death of people around her.
I shall finally vocalize my disappointment that has existed since July 2007. There is this girl on a certain forum with which I am very unhappy. Another reminder (I’m starting to sound like a broken record): I’m straight-edge. This girl on the forum said she was straight-edge. But at that time she was screwing every boy that wanted her. Using Ian McKay’s idea of straight-edge, that isn’t straight-edge at all.
Straight-edge (officially) is: no alcohol, no smoking, and no drugs. Optional: no caffeine, no casual sex.
This girl was recently “tricked into drinking”. If she was really tricked, why did she give up edge so easily? It makes me ill. If it really was an accident and if she was really true to the edge, she would’ve continued to claim the edge. And now, on BISf, her posts have degenerated to tales of drunkenness and drugs. And more promiscuous sex. Disgusting. I’m finished with that forum.
O hai. Facebook disabled my account. Fuck needing someone to verify you go to a certain school. I hardly used the fucking thing anyway.
I always manage to fuck things up. ALWAYS. I’m not a very social person and I find it hard to get my opinion across without pissing people off. In fact, I don’t think I want to go back onto BISf anymore cuz I pissed off one of the moderators. Way-to-fucking-go Melissa. You’re such a fuck-up. You can’t make friends. You can’t carry a conversation. You don’t even have any fucking confidence. No self-esteem. You fail at life.
“I’m probably going to cut again. I don’t fucking care anymore.”
You know what, Caitlin? Other people DO care! I am SICK of alternating between misery and anger that’s reserved just for you. What do you have to be so whiny about? Maybe, just maybe, I ought to stop caring about you. You are just dragging me down. Perhaps I might wish that you’ll cut too deep. Perhaps I might even want to shove every single fucking pill you have down your throat. I’m so pissed.
Actually, I haven’t much thought about it being St Valentine’s Day. I was more thinking along the lines of it being Get-In-Melissa’s-Way Day or Abandon-Melissa-So-She-Can-Finish-The-Cupcakes-All-By-Herself Day at school.
Also, to Caitlin:
God doesn’t make you cut, doesn’t make you say things. God is merely an excuse for the behavior of humanity. Every time you do this to yourself, I feel I should punish myself for not being able to stop you. But after the sadness stops, I get so angry. I’d wish that you’d cut too deep. Or that the incisions in your arm don’t hurt enough. And then I’d wish I’d give up on you. I’d wish that I could give up on you.
But I think you should know by now that I won’t give up on you. I won’t lose hope that someday you’ll stop, that someday you’ll realize that you don’t need to do this to yourself.
This is the dying you are the disease
And I smile like Ritalin – the razor and me
This is the falling you are the underground
This is the deep end you are the drowning
One more hit and you’ll get better
Tin foil, cigarettes – you’ll be okay
This is not an after school special;
This is primetime, reload, and heroin
This is the final you are the failing
This is the retro you are the out of style
This is the grinding you are the decay
This is the funeral you are the casket
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Now playing: Mariana’s Trench – Primetime
via FoxyTunes
Here is your lesson for today, you better listen up real fucking good!
#1.Your parents don’t love you.
#2.Your parents don’t really enforce the restrictions they put on you.
#3.Your school doesn’t call in your absences from class.
#4.Messenger bags really kill your shoulder.
#5.Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba’s comic The Umbrella Academy is overrated.
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Now playing: Filth – Today’s Lesson
via FoxyTunes
I hate it when he drinks. I really do. He acts like he knows everything. It’s the only time he gets real sociable. It’s pretty much the only time he talks to me. I get so depressed. People wonder why I hate my father. I just can’t stand him.
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Now playing: Angels & Airwaves – The Adventure
via FoxyTunes
