The important thing is always to learn. It doesn't matter what you're reading, what you're doing, as long as you're learning. Life is made up of stories, so always make sure to take stock of everything around you, and anything interesting that happens. It may someday make for a good story. But if it doesn't, it was still a learning experience. So go out, learn, live, and make a story worth telling.
I’m getting so scared, the closer it gets to Friday (which is the last day here before getting booted up to hell). I mean, I’m un-medicated, I won’t get to see a therapist (and if I do, it’ll be back at that place in Bellefontaine, which sucked cuz that bitch psychiatrist never fucking listened to a word I said, ever), I’ll lose all contact with what few friends I have, and worse yet, I’ll be under the tyrannical rule of John, who’ll hate me even more than before, because they can’t really afford to have me there in the first place. Oh, joy.
I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m not going to have internet access (I can’t even go to the library, due to a dispute over them losing a DVD, and me not wanting to pay for it for them, especially after they insulted me by writing bullshit in my profile thing on the computer), but I’m not even going to have a fucking phone! John said he’s going to turn it off to save the $40 or so a month that it costs. So it’ll pretty much be slave labor, day in and day out, with the occasional respite if my friends come to visit me or if I can afford to go visit them.
My left forearm is covered in cut marks from the piece of glass I cut myself with on Wednesday night. Maybe I should go back into the hospital. I mean, it’s the second to last place I want to be, but at least I’d be getting medicine, and maybe this time, if I raise enough of a fuss, they’ll actually help me figure out what to do about my debt and such, instead of telling me “Well, we can give you a phone book.” Maybe since I’ll be homeless when I go in, they’ll help me find a place to live that isn’t Lakeview (which is, not surprisingly, the place I’d least like to be). Maybe now that Lakeview is looming in the not-so-distant future, the incompetent hospital won’t be such a bad place. And maybe people will actually fucking call and visit this time! Yeah, right. Like anybody’d want to visit me? Even Aaron didn’t call me, and he was one of the 8 or so people I texted the telephone number to four or five days before I left.
I want to cry again. I want to cut again. I’m just not in a good place right now. It seems as if this life was made specifically for my torture. I know that some of this is the depression and the bi-polar talking, but I’m pretty sure even completely mentally healthy, I’d be massive fucked in this situation. Well, if I were sane enough to work jobs that devalue you as a human being and make you as worthless as possible, I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in. I’d still have an ass hole ex-boyfriend for a roommate, and I’d still be the only person in the apartment who ever does any chores, but at least I’d have a dead-end job to pay the bills and not much else.
Yeah, I’m definitely suicidal again.
