I’ve been feeling kind of out of it lately, as you know. The antidepressants don’t seem to be doing the trick. So I joined that gym like you told me to, and I bought the work-out clothes and went to the yoga classes like you said. When you told me I needed cardiovascular to go with it, I bought the running shoes and ran a mile a day, on top of the yoga, but still I just didn’t feel okay. You told me it was probably a problem with my diet, so I cut out sugars and processed foods and saturated fats and carbs, but all that did was make me want to go back to the Big Macs. You said a cleanse would help, so I bought the juicer and the vegetables and fruits, and that’s all I consumed for three days. I didn’t drink coffee, like you said, just two cups of green tea each morning. But still I felt so bad. You told me to get a colonic, that maybe the problem was that I was too full of toxins. So I did that too, and I felt all the water and shit rushing out, and it felt good, but it still felt like there was so much shit inside me. Today I did the acupuncture thing, like you told me to, and I was sitting there, my eyes closed, getting poked full of needles. You told me it would calm me, and that it didn’t hurt. You were right in that it didn’t hurt, but you were wrong in that it didn’t calm me. It didn’t calm me. Instead of feeling calm, I just felt mad. I felt mad that you won’t accept me for who I am, that you keep trying to change me into something you think would be better. But instead of feeling better, I feel like a mad little bundle with needles sticking out. Fuck you.
I am not sure if I feel cute or fat right now, or if I feel dead or if I simply want you to rub my belly. Please rub my belly and I will let you know what it is: whether or not I feel dead, whether or not I feel cute, whether or not I feel fat. I need you to help me decide how I feel right now. Please help me.
I took some acid, even though I swore I’d never take acid again. I think I took too much acid. It feels like my face is melting off and I think I like it but I’m not quite sure. I don’t know anything about anything right now. All I know is that my face is melting off and I feel very confused and everything is colorful. I don’t really know why I’m on Facebook right now, because I’m certainly in no mood to communicate, but my feet feel exactly like puddles.
I got really drunk last night and decided to end it all. I got really drunk by myself in the kitchen, I was listening to Tori Amos really loud and swaying along and singing to the music, even you know very well that I can’t carry a tune. I know what you’re going to say: that wasn’t a good idea, but I already knew that and I was doing it anyway. I just couldn’t help myself. I got so drunk and I felt so sick of my life, so sick that I just couldn’t bear it. I went into my room with the bottle of tequila (why I was drinking tequila I am not sure, you know I’m no good with tequila). I took the clothes off the bar in my closet and threw them on a pile on the floor, hangers and all. I tied my bed sheet on that bar, right where my winter coats used to be. I was just feeling so sick of it all, I was just so over it. Then I got out a chair and I stood on it, the tequila next to me, and I tied the sheet around my neck and prepared to die. But I fucked it up. I guess I was really, really drunk, even drunker than I thought. Anyway, I was somehow dangling from my feet instead of my neck, and it was just so embarrassing. I fell to the ground with a thump and crawled into bed. It feels so bad to know that I can’t even do a decent job of killing myself.
You seem sort of down today, and I wanted to make you laugh so I put my bra on my head but it doesn’t seem to be working and now you’re just sitting there looking at me like I’m stupid.
I was feeling bad and I’ve been feeling bad for a while. I’m finding it hard to shower or even smile, and I just can’t get out of this funk. So I decided, Fuck it, and I went to Jack in the Box and ordered two tacos for 99 cents, bacon cheddar potato wedges, mozzarella sticks, and a cheesecake, and then I went home and took them into my room and ate them in the dark. I didn’t intend to eat everything, it just happened that way. Actually, at first I didn’t even eat much. At first I just took a couple bites of everything. But then I kept on sitting there in the dark, feeling useless and smelly and bad, and I continued to eat as I looked at pictures of you on Facebook where you looked happy, and my old pictures where I remembered being happy, and my old best friend from high school’s pictures, who has a husband and kids now and she looks happy in all her pictures, and I don’t feel happy, or look happy, and soon the food was gone. And then you messaged me but I felt too full and fat and sweaty and useless to say anything to you. I’m sorry.
Time? TIME??! There’s never any time! I don’t have time to study! I’ll never get into Stanford! I’ll let everyone down! I’m so confused. But everything will be OK. I just need one of these. I need the pills. I need them! I have to sing! I have to sing tonight! I’m so excited! I’m so excited. I’m so scared.
Look, I really don’t care what you say. I’m going to be pissed at you, no matter what you do. I don’t care that you made this cake for me. It doesn’t change the fact that you cheated on me, and it especially doesn’t change the fact that you cheated on me on my fucking birthday. I fucking hate birthdays, and I’ve always hated birthdays, and I always will hate birthdays. They’ve never made me feel happy, or special – they’ve just made me feel lonely and depressed. And then you had to go and fuck that girl from your work, and you had to do it on my birthday too. This is the worst birthday I’ve ever had, in a lifetime of shitty birthdays, so congratulations on that. And it’s so stupid that you made this cake for me, as if that would fix anything. It won’t fix anything. You still cheated on me, you’re still a piece of shit, and that girl is still a piece of shit and you two deserve each other. But I’m going to eat your shitty cake anyway, and I’m going to eat it really fast, pretending I like it, but I won’t like it, and you’ll see that your cake is useless in quelling my rage for you.
I am having a herpes outbreak due to stress right now, so please don’t talk to me.
I had such a magical evening last night. I stayed home, and I didn’t talk to anyone, and I didn’t watch TV or go on the internet. I just did the things you do when you’re alone, the kind of things people used to do, before there was TV and before there was internet. It was nice. I felt like I didn’t live in any year, like I’d found a strange place in time where I could hide myself and be still. Like I said earlier, it was kind of a magical evening. At one point, though, I just felt so many feelings that it overwhelmed me. I was laughing and crying at the same time, and everything out there and in here – in me – seemed so funny and absurd, but also so desperately sad. At one point, I felt like there was another me inside of me, a different me, one that looked different and was shaped different but was still me, a tiny me inside of me, and that me was whispering, and it too was both laughing and crying. It crept out of me, and we laughed and cried together. I wish you could have been there.
I am sunburned and angry and I am going to shit on you. Get ready.