depression

October 26, 2006

I haven’t felt this way ever since I dropped out of the first university I went to 2 years ago. I’m in front of the computer, trying to do homework, but instead I’m crying over the keyboard. I feel lost in all of my classes, yet I can’t find the motivation to buckle down and do the work so I can catch up. All I can think of right now, is that if I did some blow I would feel better, and get some work done. But, I’m not going to let myself do that.

Two years ago, I tried to kill myself. It was my first year at a prestigious liberal arts university, in the second quarter. I had done well my first quarter there – all A’s and B’s at a university notorious for it’s 2.7 average GPA. I had a 3.4. But second quarter, I lost my motivation. I would stay up for days on end without sleeping, slurping down diet coke, caffeine pills, and energy drinks constantly before finally crashing and sleeping for days on end. The classes I did attend, I would sleep through. And the whole time, the whole time I kept thinking about how I wanted to kill myself.

I didn’t eat. There was a large field next to the dining hall, and during second quarter it was covered in pure, untouched snow. Every time I walked by the dining hall I would imagine myself impulsively running to the middle of it and slashing my wrists, spraying my red blood all over the pure white snow, and bleeding to death. I hated those thoughts, I hated going to the dining hall so, I didn’t eat.

By the end of the 10-week quarter, I was skeletal and panicked – I knew I would fail all of my classes. I lived on the 9th floor of my dorm, so I struggled and struggled to open the windows so that I could jump out but I was so weak from not eating that I couldn’t do anything. I searched my room for pills – anything I could overdose on, and came back empty handed. I considered swallowing a bottle of toilet-bowl cleaner, before I settled on my razor.

But, this was the razor that I use to shave my legs. It couldn’t go deep enough into my wrists for me to bleed to death satisfactorily. I took a pair of tweezers and tried to pry the individual razor blades out of the razor so that I could cut myself just so I could die, but all I ended up with was bloody fingers from trying to pull the individual blades out of my razor. I ended up slumped on the bathroom floor with bloody fingers and wrists, crying because I couldn’t die. I had spiraled as far down as I could and all I wanted was to die, and I couldn’t even do that. I can’t imagine a more miserable state for a human being to be in – wanting but unable to die.

In the end, my (now ex) boyfriend called me. I answered. Then, he called my parents, and they dropped everything they were doing and drove the three hours to the university in the middle of the night and rescued me. If they hadn’t, I probably would have swallowed the toilet bowl cleaner.

That is how I am here today.

don’t believe their lies

October 24, 2006

This summer my parents kicked me out of the house because they don’t like my boyfriend.

That was a lie. In truth, I have no idea why they did what they did. They said something like, “we don’t want to do this, but we have no other choice.”

When my parents kicked me out, I was completely sober. I had drank before, but I had never touched an illegal substance in my life. My parents (despite the fact that I was 19 years old) had given me an 11:00 curfew, which I had violated a total of three times. I was and continue to be a student at one of the best engineering colleges in the country. I was a good kid – the type of kid parents want to have. Yet, my parents kicked me out.

I don’t know what they hoped to achieve. If they had hoped to demonstrate to me how good I had it when I lived with them, and how ungrateful I am, they have failed in their purpose. If they had hoped that I would become more responsible, they have also failed. If they had hoped to set me up for failure, they have succeeded.

I am currently going to school full time, and working part time to pay for rent, food, power, etc… Next semester, my parents are cutting off tuition, so if I wish to continue to go to school, I will have to take out loans.

My parents had always told me that they would always be there for me – that when everyone else had abandoned me, they would be there. They are such liars. When I needed money for my first month’s rent and security deposit, they refused me. Instead, my boyfriend paid for it. I am doing fine financially now, but those first two months before the steady paychecks started coming in were hell. I remember that there were three days when I didn’t eat because I didn’t have money for food. And the whole time, the whole time those parents who had told me that they would always be there for me, didn’t lift a finger.

And so, I have turned to drugs. I have become a bad kid – the kind they warn you about in DARE. Before, my parents had always been the inspiration for me to not do drugs. But, that inspiration is now kicked and trampled in the dust. If my parents knew what they have done to me, I know that they would regret it. But, there is no undoing what has already been done.

dro

October 23, 2006

Apparently there was a big dro bust in my area over the summer, so the town has been completely dry of dro. It’s telling because the connect where we used to buy our dro from is now coming to us to buy commerc. I had not smoked dro for a minute.

Until last night – this stuff was gorgeous. Imagine a bright green bud completely entwined with orangey-red threads. It smelled great and went down so smooth. There is nothing quite like quality weed. Highest I have gotten in ages.

I have a problem

October 21, 2006

Honestly, I don’t like blow.

DXM, now that is a substance I can appreciate. It’s a dissociative, which is precisely what I like about drugs. I do them to feel like someone else – to feel greater than myself. Dissociative drugs do just that. After all, feeling like oneself is pretty boring isn’t it?

But blow? I just feel like a cheerful, happy version of myself. Not too exciting. I can feel like a cheerful, happy version of myself through other means.

Or can I?

I’ve only done it a couple times, but every groggy morning when I wake up, I think to myself, “if you did some blow, you could pick yourself up real quickly. If you took a gram with you to work, I bet you’d feel real good, and get stuff done real quickly.”

Obviously I don’t, even though it’s readily available. I have more self control than that. Also, the boyfriend would throw a fit. But, it’s the constant thinking that worries me. I don’t think of any other substance I’ve ingested like the way I think about blow. It makes me nervous, and it makes me loath to do it again, but everytime a line is presented to me, I invariably end up snorting it.

As I said, I have a problem.

kubrick is ugly

October 20, 2006

So I guess I’m blogging again. If I’m serious about this, I guess this would be my 10 millionth serious blog.

No, I’m not a 13 year-old fangirly with a million xanga sites. I used to blog fairly seriously. I’ve even made money off of blogging. I quit maybe 8 months ago, but now I’m starting fresh. My old blog is still online. I’ll give a million bucks to whoever can guess out of the gajillions of blogs out there which one is mine.

I like to use comma’s too much. I apologise. I’m not an English major or anything.

Basically, I want to share some stories. Perhaps, in the convoluted mess I’ll find my own story as well.