This is the kind of time when I start thinking about killing myself. Nothing looks good. I have no sex drive. I have a cut on my vagina. No, I don't know how that happened either. I hate living here in a confined space with another person. I hate not being able to sleep. I hate not wanting to watch anything. I don't want to eat. I don't want to watch the television shows that are on. I don't want to watch the dvds I have. I don't want to listen to my music. I don't want to think about my hair anymore. I don't even want to drink. Maybe have a cigarette. But I don't want to deal with the fallout of that. I don't know if I want to cut. That might help. But this cut on my vagina is making me kind of resistant to making any other cuts at this point. And that's another thing I have to hide. And then maybe lie about in my intake appointment tomorrow.

Fuck. I'm not even in that much pain, just hopeless. Empty. Taking the whole bottle of meds could cause seizures, according to the internet. As unpleasant as that sounded, now I have a kind of resentment against these meds that makes me not want to give them the satisfaction of killing me. Yes, I know that sounds insane. But I'm crazy, so what else was I expecting?

Time to sleep and pretend the world isn't there. All I can do is hope the dreams won't be horrifying torture.