vampamber, posts by tag: ouch - LiveJournal

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

This gorram cold is driving me crazy! I have blown my nose more times than I can count, and no longer have flesh on the tip. GYAH!!!!!!!!

In other health news, I’m currently stuck in a nice manic phase. I was doing nothing but sleep for weeks, but now I can’t seem to slow down enough to fall asleep at all right now. I just hope to the gods that I can get some sleep tonight, at least.

I’m actually quite happy now, at least. It turns out Ben doesn’t hate me, and is willing to be friends with me again. I apologized for the meltdown incident, and it seemed to work. Yays! He was the one I missed most out of losing all of Jim’s friends. We had so much in common that it felt terrible to lose him. After I move back to Wright State, I’ll hafta make sure to hang out with him more often. Cuz I missed him. Oh, and I have to start borrowing his DVDs, too. *evil grin* Cuz he had great stuff, like Duckman. Not why I missed him, I’m just saying he had good DVDs.

Started watching Dexter today. Rob put the DVD on while we were on the computers, and I absolutely fell in love with the series. So much so that I’m gonna buy the DVDs myself at some point. A fangirl is born. ^_^

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

Okay, doesn’t it just figure: I’m at my friend’s apartment, next time I get out of the house will probably be OhayoCon, and not only does my monthly visitor intrude, but I catch a cold, too. *pouts* Neither is being that bad, thank the Gods, but blowing my nose every few minutes is getting annoying. At least tomorrow when I go home, my mom has a ton of cold medicine.

Speaking of OhayoCon, I’m looking even more towards it than before. My friend Slone will be there, and I haven’t seen her in forever, and I’ll also get to meet a friend from the internet named Stan. We’ve had such cool chats, I can’t wait to meet him in person. Also, I think that my group for the con should be damn fun by itself. I’m fairly certain that Will’s as into yaoi as I am, so I won’t get nearly as many “ewwwwww!”s this time round whilst drooling. I just hope I can afford a ton of swag from the dealers’ room. I wanna find a Chrno plushie, if they even make them. *pouts*

I have a really good feeling about Social Security. My psychiatrist said she’d tell them I couldn’t work, so I might actually get approved this time. And approval means going back to Wright State. Can you see why I’m so impatient? GYAH!

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

Why is it that everybody thinks that I know absolutely nothing about myself, or about anything else, ever? And for that matter, why do they think it best to repeatedly remind me of said fact? Do they really believe that if I’m told I’m faking everything I’ve ever done for my entire life, that somehow by some unknown feat of magic, I’ll go poof and everything will be a perfect little wonderland? Because yes, I don’t actually have depression, I’m just faking it, or I’m too lazy to get a job, or some other incredibly retarded reason. I definitely didn’t have a bad childhood, and I definitely had a whole bunch of friends who never abused my kindness or anything. Of course, why couldn’t I see it before? And I definitely didn’t drop out of high school shortly after trying to commit suicide because I couldn’t handle being around people. Definitely. The reason I’ve been in the hospital so many times up to now is that I’m just really lazy, and sanity takes far too much effort on my part. Of course. I know absolutely nothing about myself, and people that have either never met me before, or people who haven’t talked to me in over half a decade knows everything that’s going on in my head. Oh wait, I forgot, there isn’t anything going on in my head, because I’ve been faking it this whole time. My apologies, I forgot. Or was it forgot to fake it? I’m not sure at this point.

But you know what? Fuck you, every fucking cumcatching bastard fuckhead that thinks they’re god to me just because they have a fucking mouth to speak with or fingers to type with. I hope you fucking die, every single fucking one of you shitfaces, and I hope it’s in the most painful way possible. I hope you get raped to death by a gang of rabid gorillas covered in their own feces. You got that, fuckfaces?

I am sick and fucking tired of people treating me like a stupid child with no thoughts or feelings of my own. I mean, I pretend that they have coherent thoughts, so why can’t they return the favor? Seriously, I am sick of this whole fucking planet, filled with the fucking stupid human race. As soon as I figure out how to kill every single human on this entire fucking planet, I’m going to enjoy pushing that godsdamned button.

And for the intellectually impaired: most of the first paragraph was sarcasm. You’ve heard of that, right?

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

I had the cops called on me last night for being too suicidal.

As usual, I put how bad I felt in my Facebook status, hoping somebody would read the damn thing and actually give a shit. Call me up, give me a hug, hang with me. Something personal, you know? Well, one of my Facebook friends called the cops on me. Mind you, this had to have been at least the 20th time I’ve written on just Facebook alone how I feel suicidal constantly. So apparently the other few dozen times were just practice?

So it was, like, 3am when the cops knocked on the door. Since I had fresh wounds on my arm (I’ve been cutting lately), or maybe even if I hadn’t, they forced me to go to the hospital. I had to ride in the back of the fucking cop car! I never want to do that ever again.

Then I get to the ER, and I get to sit in the fucking psych ward ER set up thing for nine fucking hours, getting poked and prodded occasionally, and getting to talk to someone every few hours. They couldn’t do a damn thing for me (because just feeling suicidal isn’t ever enough to get admitted), so they basically told me to go to my appointment on Tuesday and sent me home. Mind you, the cops had brought me, so I had no ride home. Aaron was at work, and I don’t really have any other friends with a car (Tyra and Max use the bus). So I had to walk the three or four miles home from the fucking hospital.

The best part about this all? I had a fever of 100 degrees during the entire time (it had went down to 99.6 by the time I left the hospital, so that’s what I got to walk home with). Seeing as how my average temperature when I’m not sick is about 95 or 96 degrees, that means I was really sick.

The ONLY good news that came out of this is that I got my move date pushed back to next Saturday. Now I don’t hafta find a place to crash Monday night so I can make my psychiatrist appointment.

But still, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

I want to fucking die. I want to slit my wrists, and bleed the fuck out. But does anyone care? No, they don’t even fucking notice. I’m about to cry, and I don’t even know why. I don’t need a reason to cry any more, a reason to be suicidal. My last day on earth tomorrow, and I’m wishing I were just dead already. Fuck, I just want to die. Prayers don’t come true, wishes don’t either, otherwise I’d've gotten mine long ago. Just… someone kill me, please? I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die, I want to die.

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

I feel like I have all these broken fragments floating around in my body. The thing is, there aren’t enough fragments to make an entire personality. I’m starting to wonder if there ever was. So here I am, grasping at each piece, trying to get it to fit together with any of the other pieces, and it’s impossible. Each piece is by itself, without ever fitting with anything else. I’m starting to think this is what true insanity feels like. I can’t be me any more (if there was ever a me to be to start with). I have one dominant trait for a short amount of time, with nothing extra like I’m supposed to have. I think I’m becoming two-dimensional, and it’s really quite a scary thought. Human beings, normal people, they have many different sides to their personality, and here I am, unable to keep anything stable inside for more than a few seconds at a time. It’s not just my emotions any more, it’s everything there is about me. Those fragments are floating off into space, never to return. I’m losing myself, all of myself, and there’s nothing I can possibly do to fix it. I’m empty inside most of the time, empty and dead. I can’t feel things, I can’t keep feeling things. I get depressed, but it’s gone before I can experience it. Same goes for happiness, disappointment, hatred, love, fear, everything. I AM NOT A PERSON!

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

You ever get one of those days where nonexistence sounds like a good idea? Yeah, today’s one of those. I didn’t realize I was taking this being-single thing so seriously. I mean, I shouldn’t be this lonely without a significant other, right? But I am. And boy, is it pissing me off to no end. >_< I think my choices in men/women are kinda what's been doing me in, though. I've noticed I always go after the ones I can't have, or the ones I don't want. Baltes, couldn't have. Matt, didn't want. Plappert, couldn't have. Jim, didn't want. And the theme just keeps on popping up. I wish I could just figure out a way to get rid of my dating bad luck. Cuz I've always been unlucky when it came to dating, or even a social life in general. Maybe I need to find Lady Luck and piss on her, then uppercut Aphrodite. Maybe that would help. Or at least help me feel better.

In other, less-emo news, I might have a chance of staying in Dayton. My therapist was talking about these different shelters that I might be able to get into. I'm seeing the case-worker lady on Monday, so we can discuss a game plan then. ^_^

Oh, and I also started playing Final Fantasy VI last night. I fully blame Max. He's been harping on me to play it for damn near the entire time I've known him. I forgot how fun the FF games are, though. Not gonna get much sleep with that game waiting to be played now. Better than getting sleep and having nightmares, I guess.

Speaking of nightmares, I need to get a new dream catcher. I didn't have nightmares the entire time I had my old one, but lately I keep having them. The last one was only a few nights ago. I was in a bathroom with the lights off, and someone along the lines of Bloody Mary showed up. Now, I've had a fear of mirrors (especially ones in completely dark rooms) for most of my life, so this was actually one of my more frightening dreams. I've also started seeing the things in the mirror again, but let's not get into that.

So yeah, back to the self hatred. I'm pretty sure I have one of those social disorder thingies. Like, massive anxiety and such. So, when I go out, I get really self conscious. Not fun. I say one stupid thing, and agonize over it for hours, months, even years. But if I don't socialize, it kills me even more. So I guess it's the lesser of two evils. And yeah, still really lonely. I wish Max were single (and actually thought of me in that way). Oh well, quickly learning that I shouldn't listen when my heart skips a beat. >_<

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

I’m starting to have hope again, and that’s even scarier than not having any. I mean, some things I know will never be to my liking, but those I can get over, right? I mean hell, I got over Baltes, didn’t I? Though admittedly, I only did because of what he told me when I asked why he had said he loved me. “To see if I could.” That bastard. But yeah, over him (even if he does occasionally pop up in my dreams). So that means I can get over those damn heart skipping moments, too. Because my heart lies to me, tells me things that aren’t real, makes me feel magnets and such when I don’t deserve them, and can’t have them anyway. I mean, I’ll eventually have to find some guy (or girl) who I can stay with for the long haul, right? I mean, it’s hard to understand what anybody would see in me, what with me being fat and ugly and crazy, but somebody will eventually come along that will forgive me my flaws, right? I just pray that I won’t be alone forever. That sense of dread behind that feeling is false, right?

But I digress. What I have hope about is that I might actually get back into Wright State. A dream for the last four years, that dangling carrot that was always lowered into my view only to be yanked away and rip pieces of my soul with it. Am I actually crazy enough to get onto Social Security? Because I’m pretty sure that’ll be the only way I can ever afford to go back. I owe, between Wright State bills and loans, about $70,000 or so at this point. Not exactly easy to pay off something like that making minimum wage and paying other bills at the same time, is it? But at least if I get onto SSI or SSD, I can start paying it off. I’m so terrified that it won’t go through, though. I was turned down the last time I tried for Social Security. I’ve been hospitalized twice since then, though, and haven’t kept a job longer than four months for the span of my entire life. I don’t know, I’m just so afraid any more. My entire life will be decided in the next few months, and I’ve reached the point where I have no more say in the matter. My fate now lies in the hands of government officials (and we all know fucked up those people are). Gods, I’m just so scared.

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

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.

Originally published at VampAmber's Clutter. Please leave any comments there.

I want to cut so fucking badly right now. All everybody does is tell me that I have no choices, no other way to exist. My only option is to move in with mom and John and die inside. Or I could take pills and die on the outside as well. If I do move in with them, I’m sure I’ll have both before long. And no, I am not doing this for attention (because even if I were, nobody fucking cares enough to give me attention). I’m only stating the obvious. If I have no psychological help, and have nothing to look forward to and no hope, I WILL try to commit suicide until I succeed. That’s what’s happened every other time I was like this. No, not like this, I’ve never been this bad. It’s taking everything in me to not go in that bathroom and swallow as much stuff as I can find. I keep having to remind myself that if I fail, it’s right back to that fucking hospital again. The place that didn’t see me as a human being, but as a walking dollar sign. I am not going back there ever again. I just… I want death, it’s my only hope at this point. I mean, depending on which religion is right, I’m sure that whatever I get for committing suicide can’t be nearly as bad as what I get for not committing suicide. Fuck, I want to cut, to take pills. I’m sure I could find enough stuff to stop my heart. I know what we have in this house that would kill me, I know the right dosage. I’m just so afraid of trying and failing. I do NOT want to go back to that fucking worthless hospital. I have nothing, and the people who try to convince me otherwise keep giving me bullshit that wouldn’t convince a gullible idiot. Maybe if I just cut a little instead of taking pills? Maybe that would help me feel better? Cuz my mom telling me I should just get a job sure as hell ain’t making feel good. If I just had a few more weeks, I could maybe figure something out. If I could just get onto welfare maybe, or onto Social Security… But that’ll never happen, because I’m not sick enough. Wanting to kill yourself every second of every day isn’t sick enough in this fucking country! Fuck it, if I don’t at least see blood, I’m going to go even more insane.

The funny part is, nobody that can actually help me will ever read this. They never read any of my other entries, why start with this one?

Anybody wanna see some pictures of the blood when I’m done?