(no subject)
Dec. 19th, 2002 01:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bzarcherfuck.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
My usual problem of trying to talk to and help others during their own depressions to get over mine isn't working tonight.
Cossack's got major problems with his family, much like mine....I don't think I'm making any headway. Suggestions, listening, nothing else.
Noelle is trying to make me feel better, but has her own severe problems.
Steve....god. Talking to Steve was like....I couldn't do anything. I just couldn't. Nothing I said helped, and I can't exactly go down and make his resident get head out of ass. I can't convince him that he does good things. That he helps the people he meets.
Plus...my parents left me some stuff to read on my sister's condition, particularly the stuff that's worsening or developed in the past 6 months.
The best part is of course that the pamphlets are BLACK WITH WHITE LETTERING. How better to give information on conditions that are fatal more often than not. (Of course, isn't -everything- eventually fatal? That whole mortality thing...)
Part of me wants to crack open the liqour cabinet. Of course, technically the liqour cabinet is just the bottles hidden in the pantry behind some stuff. In fact, there's a -lot- of booze in there. Part of me...part of me would love to just drink the whole fucking thing. There's vodka, grand marnier, Jack Daniels, triple sec...lots of fun things. Offhand, I've had a lot worse addictions than alcoholism. Hell, it'd even be cheaper than making all those model kits...I love gundam models, but they aren't cheap at -all-. Especially when you tend to buld Master Grade level kits that you have to get imported....
The other part of me....
Right now, I'm just hurting. Aching. I even started yelling at Noelle when she asked me a pretty simple question. One which I shouldn't have gotten angry about.
I can't do anything about it...but I'm just hurting. Even my heart aches. Sleep doesn't want to come....
I remember, when I get like this. I remember how I used to deal with this feeling, before I forced myself to stop.
Just how the razor or knife blade would feel.
How the blood oozed.
How the pain would slip out of me with my blood and the physical pain would take the edges off the edges.
Just how good that relief felt.
But I swore.
I swore.
Even if I'm not on good terms with the person I made the promise to, I gave my word.
I swore I'd never do it again, and I'll keep that word.
No matter how much part of me wants to....I will keep my word.
I'm gonna make myself rest. I'm going upstairs, I'm turning off all the lights, and I'm gonna put myself in bed.
If I'm lucky...maybe I'll even sleep.
It's funny. I woke up in a really good move. The drive, while a bit tiring, was wonderful. Talking to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skarlette and putting her to bed with a kiss was a deep, deep delight, just because I was spending some of my night with her again.
Now is...just a bit of a contrast, isn't it?
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK
My usual problem of trying to talk to and help others during their own depressions to get over mine isn't working tonight.
Cossack's got major problems with his family, much like mine....I don't think I'm making any headway. Suggestions, listening, nothing else.
Noelle is trying to make me feel better, but has her own severe problems.
Steve....god. Talking to Steve was like....I couldn't do anything. I just couldn't. Nothing I said helped, and I can't exactly go down and make his resident get head out of ass. I can't convince him that he does good things. That he helps the people he meets.
Plus...my parents left me some stuff to read on my sister's condition, particularly the stuff that's worsening or developed in the past 6 months.
The best part is of course that the pamphlets are BLACK WITH WHITE LETTERING. How better to give information on conditions that are fatal more often than not. (Of course, isn't -everything- eventually fatal? That whole mortality thing...)
Part of me wants to crack open the liqour cabinet. Of course, technically the liqour cabinet is just the bottles hidden in the pantry behind some stuff. In fact, there's a -lot- of booze in there. Part of me...part of me would love to just drink the whole fucking thing. There's vodka, grand marnier, Jack Daniels, triple sec...lots of fun things. Offhand, I've had a lot worse addictions than alcoholism. Hell, it'd even be cheaper than making all those model kits...I love gundam models, but they aren't cheap at -all-. Especially when you tend to buld Master Grade level kits that you have to get imported....
The other part of me....
Right now, I'm just hurting. Aching. I even started yelling at Noelle when she asked me a pretty simple question. One which I shouldn't have gotten angry about.
I can't do anything about it...but I'm just hurting. Even my heart aches. Sleep doesn't want to come....
I remember, when I get like this. I remember how I used to deal with this feeling, before I forced myself to stop.
Just how the razor or knife blade would feel.
How the blood oozed.
How the pain would slip out of me with my blood and the physical pain would take the edges off the edges.
Just how good that relief felt.
But I swore.
I swore.
Even if I'm not on good terms with the person I made the promise to, I gave my word.
I swore I'd never do it again, and I'll keep that word.
No matter how much part of me wants to....I will keep my word.
I'm gonna make myself rest. I'm going upstairs, I'm turning off all the lights, and I'm gonna put myself in bed.
If I'm lucky...maybe I'll even sleep.
It's funny. I woke up in a really good move. The drive, while a bit tiring, was wonderful. Talking to
skarlette and putting her to bed with a kiss was a deep, deep delight, just because I was spending some of my night with her again.Now is...just a bit of a contrast, isn't it?
