i'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air...

green street hooligans = new favorite movie. i now want to move to london and join a football firm.

the meanie leanie

sometimes an email from an old friend who understands and loves you can change every single thing.

feelings. nothing more than... feelings.

i have been feeling more like writing lately, which is great. however, i have also been praying before i go to sleep that i don't wake up. so i am thinking maybe my meds are not working again.

i am feeling like a major failure. i have nothing to show for the 29 years i have been alive. i know my family loves me, but they have to be disappointed. their eldest, who excelled in high school, was in the national honor society, received an award for an 880 score on the SATs in grade 7, won a partial scholarship to an amazing university... is now a receptionist trapped in a state she loathes, 2500 miles from home. i want to move back so badly in august, but right now it's not feasible financially, which depresses the hell out of me. unless some unknown uncle dies and leaves me a fortune, i am stuck here indefinitely, which ALONE is enough to make me pray that i go to sleep and don't wake up.

i want to go back to school even more than i want to move, but that is even LESS financially feasible. i am in debt and have squandered numerous chances to better myself and my circumstances, and now all i have left is regret.

i just don't see any point. i am getting older even as i type this. if i died of an aneurysm whilst i slept, what would it change? my company would find a new receptionist. will's parents would find a new tutor. my family and friends would grieve and move on. but i would not be leaving behind some great unfinished life, a project that is going to change the world, or a child who loves and needs me. i'd leave behind a boyfriend who won't seriously commit, a handful of friends, a messy apartment, debt, and a family i rarely see. my existence isn't changing the world. i am not making my environment a better place. i am living to live. and i just can't find the reasoning in that.

the depression of my past, the fits of uncontrollable crying, hitting myself in the head, clutching a razor on the bathtub's edge, it's all subsided to a numbness that scares me more than that agony ever did. at least then i felt. i wrote suicide notes to the people i thought would care, who deserved explanations. now, i can't even muster the motivation to plan a suicide. and no one deserves an explanation. if they knew me, if they cared, if they talked to me with any frequency or depth, they'd already understand.

i am so thoroughly unsatisfied with all i have not accomplished, all the world flying past me, that even bothering no longer seems worth it. people with something to live for die every single day. THEY have aneurysms, die in car wrecks, are hit by buses or murdered by muggers. i pray to die, i plead, i go to sleep with tears silently coursing down my cheeks, and then i wake up and face another shitty, uneventful day, passing the hours until i go through the ritual again. and it's useless. just like everything else i do.

i am now going to go drink a bottle of wine and wish i had a bottle of sleeping pills to go with it. but i don't, and unless someone leaves them mysteriously at my doorstep, i won't, because god knows i can't be bothered to go find them. or anything else.