Treatment Records

i'm sorry that i've been a burden to you  i'm sorry that i'm paranoid, possessive, jealous, overly sensitive, and insecure i'm sorry that your friendships with other people makes me anxious and upset i'm sorry that i'm neurotic and i'm sorry that i overthink everything you say and do i'm sorry that i'm afraid you secretly hate me  i'm sorry that i need to be reassured that you don't  i'm sorry that i'm so, so deeply afraid that you'll abandon me one day i'm sorry that i need to be reassured that you won't  i'm sorry that i can't help any of this  i don't like the way that i am but i don't know how to be better  i don't know if being better is even possible  i'm afraid that you'll never want to see me again once you move away  i'm sad that you don't want to spend time with me anymore  i'm sad that i'm too anxious to talk to you in person  i'm ...

Thus far, Cymbalta has made me nauseated and little else. I've noted in the past few days a deep and clear separation between more "normal" thinking and thoughts more characteristic of my depressed mood (including but in no way limited to intense suicidality and profound terror in regards to multiple aspects of my current and tenuous future friendship with KH). It's as though I'm listening to two radically different songs being played concurrently while understanding both, allowing myself to discuss one, and being able to turn off neither. Not enough time has elapsed to be able to say if this is due to the new drug, an effect of being in a different location (I took a brief, desperate five day vacation back home to Chicago), or just an odd fluke. Most probable is that the sort of separation, compartmentalization even, that I'm experiencing is a result of locale and nothing else. I don't anticipate that it will be maintained once I have returned to Carbonda...

Lexapro, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Remeron, Prozac, and now Cymbalta. Six different psychotropic drugs that I've tried in the past 16 months. The more drugs I try, the less hope I have that anything will work. I don't anticipate that the Cymbalta will do me any good. I'm tired and I'm hopeless. I'm broken in ways that medicine can't fix, and there's nothing that I can do to help myself. I don't know why I even bother fighting anymore. This is a losing battle in a war that I can't win. With no supports, there's no reason to not quit. It isn't like I can't be replaced. 

What if I lose my battle when there is no longer anyone around to find me?

Why do you have to get so upset about the littlest things? Of course they went somewhere without telling you anything; you should just expect to be left out by now, and even if you aren't, you ought to know that you aren't capable of being a part of that group anyhow. Just get over yourself. Drink more. Nothing matters, you'll never be happy and you'll never be socially fulfilled. They probably do it on purpose. They know how badly you want to be a member, and they don't care about that at all. They probably know how much it hurts you, and they probably smirk at the thought. Just accept that neither Curly nor KH will want anything to do with you after you part ways. You're just a burden to them, and the sooner they can forget about you, the better.  Drink more. You know that you can't do anything to fix this. You can't fix yourself, you can't fix your illness, you can't fix your friendships. Drink more. Get over it. You know that no one thinks ...

Every morning that I wake up, now, I wake up wanting to scream. Mornings are increasingly times when I feel most powerless, most worthless, most like a burden to the people around me. Most desperately needing to talk to someone, but most terrified to tell anyone exactly what goes on in my head.  If I make an attempt on my life in the near future, it'll be around sunrise. This much I know. Mornings, now, are the times when I feel closest to that divider between this world and the next, and the least inclined to keep continuing to fight to keep myself on this side of it. The end is the ultimate path of least resistance, and I don't know how long I'll have the willpower to walk a more difficult road. I don't care that things might get better, because everything is hard now, and I can't foresee them getting any easier any time soon. Eventually isn't a goal to work towards; it offers no comfort. I don't know what to do. 

What's the point of fighting anymore? You can't actually fix anything.  No one gives a shit about you. Why do you even bother? They don't care is you live or die. Nobody does. You know this. If they cared people would talk to you, and do they? No. Never. Only Curly ever actually checks in to see how you're doing, and that's probably out of some sort of pity more than anything.  KH definitely doesn't give a shit what happens. She probably wants you gone more than anyone else does. She just won't say it. Why bother going to grad school? Why bother with anything? You know that you're gonna end it before your twenties are over, why waste money on something that won't lead anywhere?  She doesn't give a shit, just like everyone else. If she did she'd talk to you. And she doesn't. Nothing actually matters, you might as well give up.  You should carry cyanide with you wherever you go, because you deserve the reminder that you're wor...

What if I finally decide one day to just disappear? What if I gather my things one day and just set off with no destination in mind? What if I just leave without a trace? How long would it take for my roommates to notice? Would anyone care? Curly would, that much I know, but would KH? How long would it take for anyone to worry? To act? What if no one looks for me?