I had one pair of paints left still clean so I could do laundry then I woke up this morning in a pool of my own menstrual blood. Those pants are no longer wearable.

I am sporting a pair of tight, half-length stretch pants for working out in. I guess they'll have to do.

You can't tell by the way I'm writing but I am in a deep depression. It's funny. I am becoming so used to hiding it. Then again, if you know me at all you might guess that any journal entry with succinct, facts and nothing else is the sign of darkness. Nobody does know me, however. Not a single soul. I made it that way. I guess I wanted it that way.

At the moment I am too depressed to even want to die. Odd.

Also odd is that colors aren't colors and the air feels different when I am in this state. It feels stale. Almost like there is no air at all. Like leftover air. Here and there. Tiny puffs of clouds of oxygen that will soon dissipate. And it doesn't scare me. I don't care. I still prefer this to terror. As awful as this is. I can always sleep for days. Terror incapacitates you and takes away your ability to escape. You become a prisoner in your own body. You can't even trust your own senses. Heat might be cold and everything might be a delusion. I wonder if I will die in a fire one day because I believe it is sand or confetti or something. That would be a pleasant way to die. My last thoughts would be that I was on a beach enjoying myself in the sun or at a party with friends that I made up. I wouldn't mind terribly being totally insane. This half-way thing is a bit horrible. Watching myself be insane and being aware of it is kind of the worst thing that can happen to any human.

I took a shower yesterday. My plan was to then go for a short walk (or, at least, attempt to.) Unfortunately I was only seeing a window. When it passed all I could do was lay in bed hoping to fall asleep. Before my great surge of energy (it wasn't really great. I barely had enough to shower) I was planning my suicide. Not that I wanted to do it right away, but it occurred to me that I do need a plan. It will help me feel better knowing that when the day comes when I have to end my life I have a good plan on how to do it. I'm terrified of trying and failing. Waking up with no legs or (more) brain damage. Now I'm searching for the perfect way to kill myself. It's weird. I'm really scared of overdosing. Maybe because I'm actually afraid of dying. Or, maybe because I'm afraid of not. But the idea of taking a bottle of Effexor makes me feel sick. And it's virtually impossible to OD on Klonopin. I woudn't have the slightest idea where to get a gun. Also, I don't want to do it here. I don't want my own family to find me. That is just something I can't do to them. I know killing myself is doing something horrible to them, and I am only going to do it when I have no choice, but if they're still alive it will prove more difficult. The last thing I want to do is hurt them. I guess we'll see what happens. There's a good chance I won't have to do it till after they've passed away. I'd prefer this. Parents shouldn't bury their children.

I would very much like it if I felt anything at all.

Try Again Later.