Thursday, June 25, 2009


Worry, to me, isn't an emotion. It's a thing. One could go so far as to call it a creature. It lives in my diaphragm, sometimes traveling down to my stomach or up to behind my sternum. It's just a hard, chlenching feeling that I can't really describe. Like I'm going to gag or something, or start wheezing or heaving. When it gets really bad, it punches me between the shoulder blades and makes my entire chest feel empty.

It doesn't go away. Worry's a permanent tenant. Sometimes it'll hide for a while, and I won't really feel it, but it always comes back. It's worst when it's behind my sternum. That's when I feel the worst. It just sits there, a lead weight, a clenching of some unknown muscle, leaving tension and pain and turmoil. It's a totally shit feeling. It turns everything I say or write into melodrama (like right now--I probably sound like one of those fake-emo Twilight LJ-ers right now.) and makes me freak out about everything. I'm really good at being paranoid. But it's really that thing in my chest that's sitting there, making me gag on my own thoughts. It makes me want to die.

I thought that things would tie me down. Friends, a boyfriend, commitments, a job, AP French. Nope. I still have that overwhelming feeling that it'd be so much better if I were dead. Not that I want to kill myself. Because if I did, I know I'd hurt everyone around me. I'm not that selfish. I don't want to hurt people. I want to vanish without a ripple, maybe just have a few people miss me a little, but miss me like I moved across the world, not like I died and it was "their fault." I don't want to be forgotten, just gone. I don't want people to worry or grieve or hate themselves for something that's totally the fault of that damnable thing that lives in my chest.

Even though I've been happier lately, I still wish I wasn't alive. Frequently. Everything would be so much easier if I weren't alive. I wouldn't have to worry about anything--not the friend with a drinking problem or the boyfriend under house arrest who may not like me anymore anyway or the people who expect too much of me or the sister who just wants me to spend time with her while I sit there wanting to die or the friends who want to hang out but I'm too scared to leave the house or the fact that I can't find any music that'll make me feel better.

I don't know what to do. Any suggestions?
FBT out.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Explication des Emotions

I'm not one who has any patience for suicide. I don't like it. At all. But lately, too much has been going on for me to feel like anything's worth it. It's not that I want to die, I just don't want to live.

Why do they matter? Who cares if you got a fucking C in English class fourth quarter? Why does it matter if you take the AP track or not, why are we so obsessed with the little markings that control our lives? Lately, I've been so overwhelmed by it. My inadvertent strategy is that I'm too scared and anxious to even pick up my homework, so I just don't do it. Then I panic about not doing it. But it's too scary to try. So I panic.

They're demanding. They're loud. They're... there. That clamoring
thereness usually helps me keep my sanity, but lately I haven't been able to deal with it all the time. I've been distant, impatient, jumpy, and sad. Not my usual. They notice, but think they can cheer me up. Sometimes tey do. Some days, they help me forget what's going on in my head. Some days I just silently scream "go away, go away, go away," even when I don't want them to. Because I love them. I just can't deal all the time. I'm worried I'm going to do something stupid, like snap at them or judge them harshly when I just can't deal with myself.

I don't even know what to say. My house feels like a war zone even when everyone's happy. I just feel tension, because I just know something I do will break that happiness. Everything feels like my fault. I'm always on the defensive, always trying to hide, even when everyone cares. I just never know what'll ignite a fuse.

If there was a way to swap souls for a while, I would. I don't want to die. I really, really don't. I just don't want to live. I want to go unconscious and still function, make everyone happy, everything good. I just don't want to
be there. I want to hit fast-forward until my brain starts to get normal again. If it ever will.

How do you tell someone that you don't want to be alive, but that you love them?

I sound so fucking melodramatic. Like a fucking LJ-er looking for attention. I just write dramatically. But I'm feeling this. And I don't know what to do. I need a new brain. Or a different soul. I don't know. I don't want to be alive right now.