This morning, I felt crap. I felt both mentally and physically tired. I trailed my feet on the ground as I walked for my bus in the early morning light. It was raining too. The rain has never bothered me though. If anything, it is refreshing to feel. The cars on the main road rushed passed me, their headlights still on since it was still quite dark. I could smell their exhausts, making me feel ill. I knew this wasn't the true cause of me feeling ill though, rather, simply because of what had happened over the last week.
I felt like falling asleep on the bus to the station as I watched the world go by from a side on view. I seen everything I see every morning. The same people too. I often wonder what their life is like and if they're enjoying it. Most of them look dead. As if their life has come and gone already. There aren't many people my age who get on my bus. It's mostly old people and 40 somethings.
The train ride proved more interesting, though. I closed my eyes for the whole twenty minutes I was on the train. It's always busy on the 8:10am train. Everyone is always waiting patiently for it on the long narrow platform. By this time, the morning light has become brighter. In the cold, you can see people's breath, as they chat to each other and laugh, but I digress.
On the train, as I lapsed in and out of conciousness, I listened to the conversations around me. There was one about what someone watched on TV last night, which I listened to for a while. But, then I picked up on the conversation that was taking place directly behind me. It consisted of a man's voice and a woman's voice. Both of them sounded 25 or so. They were discussing God and the fact that the man didn't believe he existed. They got onto of him having children. He said that he didn't particularly want them, but he felt as if society treats anyone like a freak who doesn't do what the majority of people do/want. The woman asked if he really thought this, surprised. He said yes, and she said she'd only asked him because it was a question that had popped into her head, not because it's what everyone does. She said she could see him travelling. He said he couldn't. Though I didn't know either of them, I found myself wanting to do so, since their conversation was interesting me. They both got off one stop before mine.
Once I arrived in college, I met up with Dave and we walked up to class together. I said hello to him, he asked how I was. I said I didn't know. I didn't want to say that I felt quite suicidal and lonely. It just didn't seem right. Instead, he took my answer and we continued to class.
Once in class, I lay my head on the table, using my arm as my pillow and closed my eyes. Stan arrived soon after. I looked up to say hello, before resuming my position, where I lay my head for 15 minutes. In this time, Dave and Stan realised I wasn't my 'normal' self. They assumed it was to do with me being tired. The fact is I was indeed tired. Mentally. Physically I felt fine. But to simply open my mouth and talk felt like such an effort.
The rest of the class arrived soon after the lesson began where it left off last week - designing box packaging. For the first hour, I did nothing at all. I wanted to, but I didn't know what to do and Ed is always out of the class or helping someone else. Finally, after break, he came to help me and I drew a little. This took me through to 12pm and I still had not managed to feel any better. My friends had left the class before me, so I went for dinner on my own, walking slowly, once more dragging my feet and looking down at the floor. Just to walk a five minute walk felt like the hardest thing to do. Everything felt like such an effort.
I met up with them eventually, with twenty minutes left of my lunch hour and went with them to get food for themselves. I was pretty much silent throughout.
Once back in class at 1pm, I sat down, with the pencil in my hand, but I didn't feel like being there at all. I was thankful for the fact that at 1:20pm, I packed away my things, told my friends that I had a doctor's appointment and left.
My friends don't know I go to see a psychologist. I don't know how they'd react. I'd rather them not know. I don't want them to think i'm different...even though I am different to them. They think i'm going the doctors. Maybe I have a cold, or something. I've been three times to see James in the time I've been at college. I'm sure they think I must be faking it.
"Oh yeah, I bet you're just saying that", Leanne said to me, joking.
"I wish", I replied. I wish, because I wish I didn't have to see James. I wish I had no reason to need him to talk to. If only they knew that.
By 2pm, I was in James' office. I slumped into the chair, and let him do most of the talking, answered yes or no to his questions. I'm sure I must be a difficult patient when i'm not communicative, but if I don't have the energy to, then I won't. There is so much I feel, that I want to express to him, because that hour is my chance to, but I can't put my emotions into words. It's just emotions. Sorrow. Despair. Empty. Alone. I want to express them. I want to cry. I want to hug someone.
He rang someone he knew regarding my housing situation. He said he'd send information out to me and that I'd have to ring the numbers. He gave me another appointment for the 8th December. I hope that by then, perhaps my mood isn't so bad as it is now.
My mood is so bad lately, that I almost resorted to self harming last night. I scared myself. Laura had left her craft knife in my room. She said I could have it, since she didn't need it. It was just there, on my desk. Any other night and it would of been just that - a craft knife. But last night, there was such a want to press it to my skin and to feel the pain that I've not felt for just under a year. I don't know how, but I managed to not do it, but the want to is still there.
This is not how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to be better. I'm supposed to be happier. I'm not supposed to want to die. I'm not supposed to want to cut my arms up even more. I don't want this.
And as a final note, to those people who sign my guestbook. A simple, polite message to you; please don't. It gets tiring trying to defend myself when I don't need to answer to you. Yes, my guestbook is there for you to comment on my entries, but lately, it's become more of a direct attack on me and this isn't making my mood any better. So, as a small courtesy to this diary and to me, please don't sign unless you have something supportive to say. All the negativity currently floating about isn't good and if it persists then I'll shut the guestbook down. Again, this is a polite notice to the people who know who they are. Read my diary and think what you will, but frankly, I don't want to know what you think if it's not supportive. I'll simply delete your messages, because I really can't handle all this currently i'm afraid.
