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

So, as you may have noticed, I’m currently online. Thankfully, Aaron has been letting me stay at his place occasionally for the price of gas money to get me and drop me off again.

A lot has been happening lately, and for once there are more than a few bits that I’m not going to share. I’m learning that some things are better when you keep them to yourself. Don’t cheapen the memory by sharing it. Etc…

In insanity news, I’m still working on getting SS. My therapist is pretty cool, and my shrink said she’d tell SS that I couldn’t work. I’ll still probably end up having to get a lawyer, but at least it’s a start. Also, I got diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Fun, no? But yeah, getting that stuff under control.

Quite lonely, but at least I have my Dayton trips. Got kinda desperate a few months back, procured a fuckbuddy. It kinda messed me up good, because it seems I can’t have sex with a guy I’m not attracted to. -_-; Gonna try and be better to myself from now on, only have valid relationships and such. Have my sights set on someone, but it’s a bit complicated. If it pans out, great; if it doesn’t, he’s still a pretty awesome friend. Even if he did keep throwing me into the lava.

I’m actually feeling really good. I spent the weekend at my friend Will’s place, hanging with him and Brad and quite a few other awesome peoples. I didn’t realize just how much I missed Will and Brad until I finally had the chance to really hang with them again (it’s been a few years). That stay helped so much, methinks. Also found a few new favorite board games. Oh, and must read Order Of The Stick soon. The strips I read were hilarious. ^_^

All in all, maybe everything happening really was supposed to happen. And the new thing is, I think I’m fine with that.

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

I’m done trying to justify everything. People will believe whatever they want to, no matter how far from the truth it is, no matter how absurd it sounds. I’m done letting others think they’re allowed to dictate my life. The second you share anything about yourself online, that’s the second people think they know more about you than you know about yourself. They try to force their ideals down your throat, tell you that you should do everything their way, because they’re in control of you your life. And I’m done with it all.

I’m losing all internet connection on Saturday, and maybe that’s a good thing. I’m getting sick of the fact that most people online are idiots and ass holes that think they’re entitled to do whatever the hell it is they’re doing. 4-chan isn’t a website any more, it’s how almost everybody acts online. And I’m pretty certain I don’t want to be associated with any of it. Maybe this break from all things online will help me feel better, or maybe it’ll help me decide to delete this website and to stop using my LiveJournal. Either way, I think it’s what I needed to help me come to a decision.

I’m also thinking it’s a good thing that all the people who called themselves my friends offline deserted me long before the move. If I have no one to miss, I won’t feel as bad. And desert me they did. So maybe this is a blessing in disguise. At least, I can hope for that.

Throughout this whole ordeal, I’ve also learned to stop telling the truth online. If you tell people how you feel, they don’t put the effort into trying to help you, or talk to you about it, or give you support. But they DO call the cops on you, apparently. Because that requires no real effort, or actually caring. Thinking before acting is something that no one does online. Ever.

I need a vacation, from people, from the internet, from everybody telling me I’m not good enough and acting like it’s “help”. Because that’s what “you’re not trying hard enough” means when you are trying your hardest. Or it means “faking.” Either way, it’s an insult. But online, since people don’t have to look at your face when they tell you how horrible of a person you are, it’s standard practice.

So on Saturday, I’m moving back to Lakeview. If my “friends” want to contact me, they know my number. I don’t expect any calls, though. I’m losing all internet access whatsoever. Not that it ever helped before. At least this way, I won’t have as many people insulting me. Only myself.

I’m going to stop using this website now. This is my last entry until I decide if the scum is worth what little good that comes from all this. I still have a few months paid for, so I have my time to think. I’m pretty sure I already know my decision, though.

Goodbye, to those few that actually do care. And to those that don’t, you can stop pretending now.

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.

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 seem to be entering into another one of those peaceful, contemplative states again. Unlike last time, I’m not taking this as a sign that I’m “cured” and quit my treatment. Instead, I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Moving to Lakeview is an inevitable step. I can hate it and be depressed about it all I want, but I’m stuck doing it. John can try and make it worse (and believe me, he will try his hardest), but he can only succeed if I let him. I’ll have my books to read, and I’ll hopefully be able to beg my mom for gas money to come into town a few times a month. I’ll try for Social Security, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll try harder. I’ll serve my sentence, because the gods know I deserve some form of punishment (I’d get into why, but it’d take at least twenty pages, if not more so). I will go through all this, I will try and get healthy, and I will come back to Dayton. I will once again appreciate this place as a man dying of thirst appreciates an endless supply of ice cold water. I will get healthy, and some day I might be what’s considered normal, mentally. And while most of my “friends” deserve those quotation marks, the ones who truly care will be by my side as often as possible.

My goal for this time up in Lakeview is to survive. I will read, I will write, I will play all the way through Final Fantasy VI so Max will get off my back, and I will survive. I just need to keep reminding myself of that. And maybe take up meditation again. That’s helped before, it might help now.

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?

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

It’s the one I’ve been keeping from everybody, sometimes even from myself. I’m pretty sure most of the people who’ve met me, who’ve known me for any length of time whatsoever, will think I’m lying through my teeth, but it’s true, I promise you.

I’m not good with people, at all. I don’t have very good social skills, I’m not usually comfortable around people, and I’m very insecure in any social situation I’m ever in.

Now, I know you may be calling “bullshit” on this very loudly by now, but it’s completely true. I’m just very, very good at lying. Over the years, I’ve learned to fake being a people person. I found out long ago that that’s what people want me to be, and I made myself into it. It took lots of practice, but I eventually learned to do it perfectly. I’m still that frightened, insecure girl underneath, no matter how at ease I seem, how natural I look.

I’m sick of keeping this secret. It’s gotten far too exhausting to fake it lately, what with every single thing going wrong in every way imaginable, all at once. So, I’m done with faking. It’s one of the reasons no one ever wants to hang out with me, I’m sure. They see the facade I’ve put up, and then don’t understand why I don’t call them to hang. Well, the secret’s been revealed: I don’t call people because I don’t feel comfortable doing so. It scares the living shit out of me to take that plunge into the unknown. I’m so afraid that they’ll say no, that they’ll yell at me for bothering them. It terrifies me. But nobody knows that it’s one of the scariest things in my world, so instead, they get pissed off at me for not calling them, and for being sad that no one calls me. I guess there’s no helping it. Nobody cares enough to take that extra second to ask me why I don’t call them. No, that’s asking far too much. Instead, I just get to curl in on myself, lonely and unable to fix the situation.

So now that you all know how terrified I am of making the first move, I’m sure you’ll all look down on me for it. And I know damn well I won’t be getting any calls to invite me to hang. Because that would involve my offline “friends” actually reading this. I get more comments in here from people I’ve never met in person than I do people I know in real life. At least ten times as many. How sad is that? It just goes to show I don’t have good friends, not that many at least. Except for on the computer. I’d say I just pick the wrong people, but I’m starting to wonder if the right ones exist. Offline “friends” have been doing this exact same thing to me for my entire life, pretty much. Last time I had good friends in decent numbers was 3rd grade.

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

I am pathetic. Completely, totally, absolutely, utterly pathetic. I should never listen to my heart. I mean, look at the horrible places it’s led me before: Baltes, RapistMatt, Jim… So why, oh why, can I not stop listening? I mean seriously, listening to that damn skip has led to my doom once before (Baltes). Why would I ever be stupid enough to listen to it again? I wish I could cut the traitorous thing out, so I’d be done with it. Nothing goes the way I want it to, ever. I’m going to be homeless in a few days, which means I’m stuck moving in with my fuckhead step-dad. Everything in my life sucks as much as possible and then some. So why, oh why, did I think my love life would be any different? I wish I could stop loving, I really do. I mean, friend love or family love is okay, but romantic love should be right out. No more pain, no more heartbreak. Gods, I’m so fucking pathetic.

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

Okay, it seems that I’m right back to bouncing up and down, emotionally. I can sit and laugh and hang with Aaron and Tyra and Lee, but then feel like shit immediately after. It doesn’t help that Jim’s went from ignoring my existence to treating me like shit. He’s pissed that I haven’t moved, even though it’s his fault that I haven’t moved yet. He promised my mom that he’d get me boxes, and I assumed he would, what with promising to and such. Besides, if anybody in this apartment has a reason to be pissed off at somebody else in this apartment, it’s me at him. He never does chores. Ever. He might take out the trash in the kitchen if it’s overflowing. He doesn’t throw away any of the trash that sits next to the can, he doesn’t take out the trash from the bathroom (even though it’s nasty and overflowing 99% of the time). He doesn’t do dishes, sweep, mop, vacuum, clean the bathroom, clean up after himself, ANYTHING. Then the other night, he had the godsdamned nerve to ask me, who has no fucking money, if I’d do a load of towels because we were out of clean ones. Mind you, he asked this after putting his one load into the washer. Because he’s apparently only allowed to do one load a week, no matter how much is dirty. I wish he’d just grow up already. It’s not even just the chores and the laundry and the living-in-filth thing, either. Whenever I say or do something that isn’t fawning at his damn feet, he throws a temper tantrum. Seriously. I dunno, maybe it is a good thing I’m getting the hell out of here. Maybe once I’m not here to wipe his damn nose, he’ll learn to take responsibility for himself. Because he’s REALLY lacking that. His entire life right now is go to work (where he basically sits on his ass in front of a computer all day long), play video games, and go places with Heather or other friends, and sleep. And exactly one load of laundry a week, no more, no matter the circumstances. No chores. No real labor. No acting like a grown-up whatsoever. I am not his mom, so he needs to quit treating me like I’m supposed to take care of his every need. Fuckinghellshitdamnfuck! Now I can’t wait to move to a place that doesn’t make my guests feel like vomiting when they walk through the door. Oh, to live in a clean house again. It’ll be nice.

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

I feel like I’m being an emotional burden on everybody right now. Like that I’m actually incredibly annoying to be around, but once a person is stuck with me, they’re too nice to just tell me to fuck off, you know? Because that would make everything make sense. Why nobody ever calls me to hang out except for Aaron. I think he’s even doing it to be nice sometimes. I dunno. *shrugs* I go from numb, to wanting to cry, and back again constantly. It’s at completely random intervals, too. It doesn’t help matters any that I’m still completely terrified about moving back in with John. I didn’t cut before him, I only tried to commit suicide once before him, I was never hospitalized before him. I’m fairly certain that, while he’s not the source of my problems, he does make them far worse than they ever should have been. Whether he makes me pray for death every second I’m around him is on purpose or on accident, it still is.

Maybe I should learn to stop bugging people and to just keep to myself more. You know, get rid of AIM, stop trying to get people to call me and hang out. After all, I’ve learned that if I don’t constantly poke at a person, they forget that I exist ungodly quick. Everybody does. If there’s nothing blatant to remind them of me, I become not real. Just a memory. Maybe a memory of a memory. Unreal. Nonexistent. Never was. Seriously, if I stopped going online, if I moved away and stopped calling other people, after a few weeks, even a few days, I would no longer exist. I’d be wiped away, never having been. Are all people like that, or am I just special? I mean, I remember my friends when they’re not in my face. Why does nobody ever remember me? Maybe I don’t exist at all. Maybe I’m all part of somebody else’s dreams or something. A character in a novel that can be easily erased without the plot suffering at all. But if I’m not going to exist, I wish I’d stop being here. It’s far worse to not exist yet still be around, than it is to not exist in any way.

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

I’m quite miserable at the moment. As you already know, I’m stuck moving back in with my parents, cuz I’m not strong enough to be able to hold down a job or be a person or whatever. Well, as if that weren’t torture enough for me (since that’s all my life seems to be lately), no, I found out how it could be so much worse. Mom and John are going to have a hard time being able to afford for me to live there with them. So John told me, over and over again, for almost half an hour. I’m pretty certain I’ll be getting that guilt trip on a daily basis, and an extra large helping of verbal abuse to go with it. So now, not only am I completely losing contact with everybody I know and love, and moving to bumfuck middle of nowhere, but now I’m going to be treated like the lowest piece of shit possible, and be lectured for failing at life. Yeah, that’ll be REALLY FUCKING GOOD for my depression.

The best part is, I have absolutely no other option. I can’t afford to stay with Jim (what with having zero income and all). I don’t know anybody I could couch hop on, because I can’t afford to pay for anything of my own. I’ll have to wait for Tuesday when I see my caseworker lady, see if that emergency housing she mentioned is available. Because this is definitely an emergency. I’ll take anything at this point. Crime-infested, roach infested, 20 roommates, I don’t care. Fuck, I’m so damn scared about moving in with my parents now. I just know every shred of sanity I’ve managed to gather these past few years will be torn to shreds and then shit on. I just hope when I start cutting again (when, not if, at the rate things are going), that I don’t get yelled at too much.

If I even knew of a couch to sleep on, I might be able to get cash from my parents, but that involves knowing of a couch. I’d only need it for a few months, until I know about SSD and SSI. God fucking damnit, I hope that emergency housing stuff is for serious, cuz I’m pretty sure that living on the street would be safer to my mental health right now than what I’m going to be forced into. I mean, they’re even going to take away my phone while I’m there to save money. No trips to Dayton, either, I’m guessing, unless someone else springs for gas (which will NOT happen). I am in hell. This just proves it.

Oh, and for those people that read my blog but don’t post, trust me, this is the time to reply, to write to me, call me, visit me, see me, keep me from thinking of my fate. Please, for the love of the gods and all that is holy, do NOT let me spend this last week of not-hell crying.

Oh gods, I don’t want to move there now, I really don’t. Before, it wasn’t so bad. I’d lose contact with everybody, but at least I’d be safe. But now, I don’t even get the safety. Fuck, my life is hell. I’m in hell. I must’ve done something really bad to deserve this. Oh gods, I’m so scared right now. I’m not exactly sure I’ll even survive living there now. In hell, one tries to escape. And my mom has a LOT of medicines that would make suicide a little too easy. I won’t be safe there. I’m not over-reacting, I’m serious. I won’t be safe in the least.

Oh gods, I’m going to die there, I just know it. Oh gods, oh gods. I don’t really want to die. Not like that. Oh gods, oh gods.

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

It’s starting to look like I’m going to be moving back to Lakeview soon. Jim’s kicking me out because Home Depot fired me, so I’m going to have to find a place to live, but since I have no money, I can’t go anywhere else. I’m going to try for SSI, but I doubt I’ll ever get that. I can’t back to Wright State ever, from the looks of it. I’m miserable, suicidal, empty, and have only two people left in this world that are willingly my friends. I have nothing at this this point, no hope, nothing to look forward to, no will to live. The hospital can’t help me because they don’t even try. The therapy place can’t help me because they don’t help people with their debt problems. The help I need can’t be gotten from some free clinic like them. I’m so far into debt that I’ll never see the light of day again without winning the lottery. The only reason I’m not dead right now is because I refuse to kill myself. I just know I’d fail, mess up, not die, and be stuck in the hospital where nobody cares and they all refuse to help me. I have never felt worse in my life, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I have no options other than move in with my parents and feel even more miserable, or to get a job and lose that fear of going into the hospital. And no, I’m not pulling this shit to get attention, or because I’m some whiny fucking infant or something, I’m just being completely honest with myself. If I get a minimum wage job, I get fired. It’s just a fact of life at this point. It’s happened at every other place (unless I quit because I knew I was about to get fired, or because I went into the hospital). What makes anybody think this McDonalds or this Dollar General will be any different? I really just wish I could die right now. I wish I could stop my own heart, or that someone would come in here and kill me. I see nothing good in my life, because there is nothing good in my life. I am an empty shell where a human used to be. I am suicidal, but can’t get help. Nothing helps, nothing works, no one cares, no one close enough to do anything at least. I am completely alone, and completely miserable. I want death. I pray for it. I go to sleep, and pray that I don’t wake up.

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

I find myself getting more jaded by the day, and I’m fairly certain it’s not the depression. People are starting to show their true selves to me, and it’s quickly reminding me that I’m an anti-humanist for a reason. I mean seriously, lately, a lot of my “friends” are running away as fast as they can. Oh no, Amber isn’t me, thus she’s not good enough to be around me. Well, too all the people ditching out on me because I’m a normal person with normal flaws, JUST LIKE YOU ARE, well, fuck you. I’m getting sick and tired of this shit. Nobody wants to see the whole me, they only want to see the pretty parts, the parts they like. If they enjoy my sense of humor, they don’t want to know about my problems, if they like how upbeat I am, they don’t want to hear my morbid little thoughts. I’m getting really sick of it. It’s getting to the point where the only people who aren’t ditching me like an ass hole are the ones who don’t know me well enough yet, or are Aaron and Tyra.

Maybe I just need to get out of the house more, meet new people, replace all the worthless former friends that are avoiding me like the plague now. At least then I’d have a bit before those new people deserted me. I mean, I know those new people will ditch me in the end, too, but I can try and enjoy myself while I can.

I think I just let myself get too happy there for awhile. When I get all happy and content with life, I lie to myself to keep it that way. I lied to myself about being in love with Jim still during those last few months. I lied to myself about not being miserable at Home Depot. I lied to myself that I can trust people, and see where that got me? I can’t trust anybody to do anything they say, ever. I trusted my mom to put some of that $19,000 away for my college. She bought John a box truck that he couldn’t even use in the end instead. I trusted them both to pay me back that $2,000 the borrowed from me, so that I could pay off Wright State and get back into college. As you might have guessed, I haven’t gotten a fucking dime back from them, and that was 3 years ago. I trusted Jim to help me find a debt consolidation place so I could get back into college. No such luck. Hell, I trusted him to do chores, any chores, ever. Doesn’t happen. I trust people to not leave, and that never happens either. I need to quit trusting people, I need to quit caring so much about everything. It’s the only way to survive my shitty life.

At this point, I wish I could afford to take Whitters up on that offer of going to her place. But damn, bus tickets to Pennsylvania are so expensive. Bus tickets to anywhere farther than down the street are expensive. Figures that some of my only true friends are either out of state or out of country (such as my Alykins). Fuck.

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

It seems like lately, everything sucks. I’m fairly certain I’m more depressed than ever. Going to the hospital only made it worse. Not only was I treated by incompetent doctors who only wanted me for money, and booted me as soon I wasn’t making them enough, but not a damn soul called me, visited, or even asked about me. Makes me feel so loved. I sent out a text message halfway through my stay, telling my friends the phone number there and the info they needed to get ahold of me, but nobody called. Nobody visited.

And it wasn’t just the hospital, either. The only people who ever call me to do stuff, like hang or whatever, is Aaron. I guess that’s what I get for getting so buddy-buddy with Jim’s friends. The second it was over, they all disappeared. I guess nobody really likes me all that, nobody in the state of Ohio at least (other than Aaron and Tyra, I mean). That’s probably one of the most depressing things. I got so used to having a social life of any kind, and then it got yanked away from me.

I pretty much feel horrible every second. I can forget the severe depression every so often, whenever me and Aaron and Tyra are doing fun stuff, but as soon as I’m back home, or we’re just doing our own things or something, it all comes back in a tidal wave of hurt and suffering. I feel suicidal again, only this time I won’t cut or anything. I don’t want to go back to that godsdamned hospital ever again. They don’t do shit there, only make you more crazy.

I sometimes wonder if they’re all right, and I’m not really a person. If maybe I don’t deserve attention or affection or friends. Maybe I really don’t deserve happiness. At least now I know I’m getting exactly what I deserve.

I really do hate my life, and I’m not sure if I can fix it this time. I’ll probably never get back into Wright State, they have me stuck with a bitchy child psychologist instead of a person who’s actually qualified to treat me, and I know damn well that I’m going to get turned down for SSI, again. I kinda wish I knew a sure-fire way to die, one that wouldn’t piss everybody off. I’d hate to have everybody think even less of me (if that’s even possible). I feel like crying 24/7, and NOBODY FUCKING NOTICES OR CARES!

I wish I were dead.

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

So yeah, I got back a few hours ago from my parents’ place. I went up there for the fourth of July, and it was… interesting. I got the pleasure of trying to convince my step-dad that Pokemon and Speed Racer are animes. I’m still pretty sure he doesn’t believe me, or even my mother, who told him that she watched Speed Racer when she was a kid, and that yes, it was an anime. *giggles* But on a less funny note, I did all my laundry. I had dirty clothes from back before I moved here in October. -_-; But I have clean clothing now! I’m not sure what I should be feeling. It’s been so very long. Heh heh heh…

I barely got to see the fireworks, because I woke up so late. At least I got to see some while I was driving. I got stuck at a stop sign, and ended up seeing the finale of the Indian Lake fireworks, so that works. There were some people a few blocks away who must’ve spent at least $1,000 from the amount of fireworks they were letting off. Way late into the night, and yeah, they were all coming from the same spot. Damn, I wanna do that next year. Grab some of my friends, pool our money together, go on a road trip to Indiana to that fireworks warehouse thing, buy a metric ass ton of things that go boom, then haul everybody and everything up to my parents’ trailer park and let them all off. *drools at the thought*

Mental health-wise, I’m feeling a helluva lot worse than I did when I went into the hospital. I refuse to ever go back to that hospital for anything. First that twat tells me I’m faking it to get out of work, then they kick me out of the hospital cuz I wasn’t making them enough fucking money. Yeah, Kettering Medical Center can suck my cock. I’d buy one, just for them, and cover it in diseases first, that’s how pissed off I am at them. At least I get to see the psychiatrist at 1:30pm today. They wouldn’t give me a new one, even though the doctor at the hospital said they would (fuckhead), so I guess I’m going to have to MAKE her ass listen to me. The tiny bit of pills I’m on is NOT FUCKING WORKING! Gyah! I so hate people right now. Mostly, I just hate my life. Hate it so very much.

And yes, I know I’m not going to get any sleep. I don’t care right now. Let her deal with irritable Amber. She deserves it.

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

As you may have guessed, I’m back from the hospital. I went in Friday night, shortly after writing my last post if I remember correctly, and I got out late Thursday afternoon. I ended not cutting when I went in, but while I was waiting to see if they were going to send me home or not (and after the bitch they had working the psych part of the E.R. that night made it sound like I was just trying to skip work) I had a bit of a nervous collapse, reminiscent of the time I tried to claw my arm off because if I could find bone, that would mean I was a real person. This time, I was convinced that I was a fake person and that everything I thought, felt, or knew was fake. I tried to peel my scars off, because they were fake and should peel right off. It’s good to know the lady they have there working the late shift can actually make people lose all sense of self and reality so easily. Fucking bitch.

So yeah, I was in the hospital for awhile. They let me out way too damn soon, in my opinion. They all but threw random drugs at me and told me to be on my way. When I asked the doctor if he was sure if I should be going home yet, because all they had me on for my depression was Remeron, and before, that, plus Lithium, plus Serequal wasn’t enough, but he said that I’d have to talk to my psychiatrist about it. In two weeks. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I DOING IN THE HOSPITAL, THEN????????? Fucking ass hats, I swear. So yeah, I’m still trying to stop myself from being suicidal. Been doing a lot of hanging out with Aaron and Tyra, and it’s helping a little. Getting my meds tomorrow, so maybe I’ll be able to sleep again.

I’m starting to think a lot of the crap that was going on in my head was from just being so damn lonely. I mean, when I was dating Jim, we did tons of stuff together, and we did tons of stuff with his friends. I wasn’t lonely much, because I usually had someone around. Well, since singledom has wreaked its havoc on me once again, all that has gone away. Since I’d been mostly hanging with his friends, and they all disappeared when we broke up, I really didn’t socialize much. At work, yeah, but that was a few seconds here, a lunch hour there. Nowhere near enough. And I didn’t “socialize” with the customers. I may have talked, or joked around, but I wasn’t a human being when I was on the clock. They frown on that sort of thing in jobs like that. So yeah, really fucking lonely. Every guy I asked out turned me down, which made me feel the loneliness eating at my soul even moreso than before. One got a girlfriend and ditched me, and the other is too busy mooning over some chick who wouldn’t give him a tissue if it were life and death. Gyah.

The bad bit, though, is what I did whilst in the hospital. I pulled another David: depressed and desperate, I grabbed a naive young guy who thinks that since I actually pay attention to him, that I must be God. And now I don’t know how to fix my mistake. Fuck!