Despondent September 21, 2003 - 6:54 p.m.

Out of nowhere yesterday, I started crying again.

I could feel all of these emotions boiling about, and I just needed to get away. So I marched myself out the back door and sat on the deck.

I have no idea where it came it. Nothing was said. I wasn't watching a movie or tv or listening to music. I was just sitting there talking to Chris while he was shaving. And during a moment of silence while he was shaving his neck, I just felt the overwhelming need to... I don't know. Go somewhere else? Cry? Scream? Break stuff? Confess to him that I'm always sad? Confess that I'm just a big faker who's simply going through the motions of life, and poorly? Whatever it was, I needed to get away from him. I needed to hide what I've become lately.

When I get that way, part of me wants to be consoled. To be told that everything will be fine, even if it won't. To have him there to vent to. To explain that I have no idea what's going on with me, but I feel like shit all the time. And I want it to stop. That I feel like cutting and doing so many other things, because I'm weak and I can't find any other way to stop these feelings. And I'm just miserable. And I hate it. And hate even more that I don't fully understand why I feel this way. That I'm incapable of making myself change the few things that I think might be responsible. I just want to tell him all of these things, and not worry that he might shrug it off like I'm acting silly or look at me as though I've gone insane.

Even though I seriously feel that I have.

So I keep it inside. I keep it locked away, leaking only smalls amounts of it out into this diary for a few readers and mostly myself. Because while I sometimes want to be consoled, I also worry about the reactions I might get. Or that the outcome involved in resolving these emotions will require doctors and medicine. And I don't want to live that way. I don't want to be that person. I want a normal life with normal fucking feelings that aren't overwhelming and debilitating.

Instead of normal, I get shit. Shitty feelings with shitty excuses. These shitty things that hit me at once with no warning whatsoever and cause me to cry like an idiot for seemingly no reason.

So yesterday, I abrubtly walk outside and sit on the deck, seething. I was sitting there for no more than a minute or two when the waterworks started. And I couldn't get them to stop for at least half an hour. Emotions switching from utter sadness to pure rage and back again. I'd be horribly sad then suddenly uncontrollably angry with myself for allowing myself to get this way to begin with. I was shredding apart leaves and any other plantlife I could get my hands on, anything to keep me somewhat preoccupied. Anything to stop myself from doing something stupid. Because the stupid thoughts were the only things on my mind.

I finally noticed how annoyingly hot it was, and my head was hurting, so I managed to calm down and go inside. I plopped down on the couch and mindlessly stared at the tv. At least I wasn't crying anymore. After a few minutes, Chris called out from the other room and asked if I wanted to go out, just get out of the house, and if so, I should get ready. And for some reason, just having someone talk to me while I was still feeling shitty, I started crying again. Disguising that as much as possible, I gave him small, one word answers then got in the shower. Where I broke down, yet again.

See, it was all an ugly cry day.

I thought I was fine after the shower. After finally dropping to my knees and lying my head on the bottom of the bathtub, I forced myself to focus on the feeling of the water on my back and the sound, which resembled a waterfall in that position. It took awhile, but it eventually allowed my mind to wander to other, safer things. I got out, dried off a bit, and sat down in the computer room where Chris was. It's amazing how drained you can feel when you get this way.

He talked a little bit and asked a few questions like what I wanted to do, and I guess my responses weren't as enthused and lifelike as they should have been because he then asked 'What's wrong' or 'You seem sad, are you okay?'. At which point, duh, more tears. This time in front of him though. There was no hiding.

I finally let him know that I've been sad for a very long time and can't figure out exactly why. He even asked if it was him, and I let him know that he's the only thing that seems to cheer me up even the slightest. Of course, he felt guilty because he didn't know what he could do for me, other than try to change the subject or joke about things. Anything to get a laugh. Though I confessed to being unhappy, I didn't tell him that I had spent that last hour crying and fighting off these evil thoughts. I couldn't tell him that I had these evils thoughts that are becoming harder and harder to ignore. That I find myself suppressing these urges all the time, and feel myself only getting weaker against them.

Maybe if I were to tell him, then I wouldn't feel so alone in trying to fight them. Like forming a false sense of strength.

Anything will help.

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