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 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?

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.

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.

So yeah, I think I’ve decided something. I’m going to stop looking. Now that my brain is working a little bit better, i realized that I probably didn’t love all those guys I’ve been going after lately, I’ve just loved one or more qualities they’ve possessed. So I’m going to stop chasing, stop getting pointless crushes. No more asking guys out, no more looking around trying to find guys. If somebody asks me out (which won’t happen), I might go out with them. But I’m done looking. And I’m not saying this because if you stop looking, you usually find someone, no. I’m doing this because the pain isn’t worth it, and because I’ve been lying to myself besides. So no more looking, no more flirting.

I’m going to try to stop caring so damn much in more areas than just this, too. I think my big problem is that I care too much, I put everything I have into everything I do, and it exhausts me so terribly. So now, the only 100% activities are going to be trying to get disability, and trying to get back into Wright State. Everything else, I’ll force myself to care less if I have to. I worry too much, because I care too much. See? This might actually work. *crosses fingers*

In other news, I’m fairly certain that I’m sick. I’m dizzy, my head feels full of blood and cotton, and my intestines are trying to eat themselves, I think. It would explain my stomach difficulties, at least. Gyah… I’m thinking of going back to sleep soon (even though it’s not even 1am yet, and I didn’t get up til 5pm…), if that tells you anything. I just hope I can still function when I need to. I need to go into Home Depot tomorrow and quit (though I’m sure I’ve been fired by now, if not for being fired before going into the hospital, then fired for not coming in to work the second I got out). If I can stay away from the bathroom long enough to make the drive. And the room stops spinning. Bleah………..

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!

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

The more people talk to me about my current situation, the worse I feel. My mom just called me, to see if I was feeling better. She wants me to beg bitch Christina for my job back, and the thought alone makes me feel like vomiting. Do I really want to stay at a place where my boss is trying everything in her power to ruin my life? I mean gods, I feel sick about going in to work tomorrow, about going in every day until next Sunday, pretending to every fucking person that I’m not dead on the inside. I seriously feel like I’m going to vomit because of this stuff, and I’m being literal there. No metaphorical vomit for me.

Just thinking about this whole bullshit situation is making me sick. I got zero sleep last night, so I called off from work today. I’m that bad off right now. But does anybody care that this job is destroying what little I have left? No, they’re trying to get me to feel less suicidal so that they can feel better. Fuck all this shit. Maybe I should go to the hospital. I keep wondering how many lithium I’d have to take before I was poisoned beyond repair, or if I could drown myself in the swimming pool before someone noticed. I’m wondering just what combination of chemicals under the sink I’d need to die the fastest. But does anybody care about that? No, they never do. They want me to feel better so they don’t have to bother worrying about me. This whole fucking world sucks. I don’t see why nobody will let me just die. I mean, it’s a simple request, right? If I’m dead, I won’t get abused by damn near every person I meet. I won’t feel so fucking lonely because nobody gives a shit. I won’t be taking advantage of constantly. I won’t hafta worry about how much I’m fucking up everybody else’s lives just by existing. I’ll stop fucking everything up, in fact. The world would be a much better place without me in it. I wish I had never been born, but since I can’t have that, I wish I were dead instead.

I’d go to the hospital right now, check myself in, but everybody would yell at me, get pissed off at me, and that would just make things worse. Pretty much any course of action I take, people will be pissed off at me. That’s pretty much all I do lately: piss people off. And anybody saying that I don’t is a fucking liar. Or they just don’t realize how much I fuck up everything. God fucking damnit, I want to be dead. I want this life to be over. I want oblivion, I want to not think, to not feel, to NOT FUCK EVERYTHING I TOUCH UP! But no, I’ll never get what I want. I’ll get the right help. Maybe the right help doesn’t exist.

I feel sick to my stomach again. I need to quit thinking about this shit. But since I have to be at work in the morning, it’s kinda hard to forget. I wish everybody wouldn’t get so damn pissed off at me for wanting to go to the hospital. It’s what I need, but I’m not allowed to go. Because I don’t know what I need. Everybody else knows what I need, and they’re going to force it on me every chance they get. But I don’t get to be right, I don’t get to know what the healthiest action for me to take would be. Don’t you get it? Everything I know is wrong, that’s what everybody always tells me. Every single fucking person on this planet loves to tell me just how fucking wrong I am. I want some razor blades, I want some poison, a lighter, anything. I want to be dead.

I will never be allowed to be me. I’m not even sure me exists any more. They’ve been telling me it’s wrong for so long. I wish I was allowed to go to the hospital. I want to be dead. Please, gods, let me die already.

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

Almost ended up in the hospital again last night. It seemed like all I ever did was fail. The thing that set me off was figuring out that I was fired. No one had the common courtesy to come up and tell me, but I managed to figure it out. After next week, I’m no longer on the schedule. My name is gone, but everybody else is still on it. I asked Tim about it, hoping he’d heard something, but he hadn’t, and told me to ask either the hiring manager or the front end supervisor. Well, I finally spotted the hiring manager, and asked her. She said I had to ask the front end supervisor about it. Now, if it was a mistake that I wasn’t on there, or if I’d been transfered to another department, she would have told me so. The fact that she wouldn’t (or couldn’t) tell me means that I’m pretty much fired. Now, right from the get-go, Christina, my front end supervisor, hated my guts. She would go out of her way to make my work day miserable. She would cut all my breaks, yell at me for not being able to get ahold of an associate that SHE had been chatting to for no reason. She hated me, pure and simple. I think it was because I didn’t start worshiping her immediately. I’m sorry, but I don’t bow down to incompetent bitches.

So yeah, this makes three jobs that have fired me by taking my name off the schedule, and not telling me anything until I asked why. McDonald’s, Kroger’s, and now Home Depot. Whee… So I guess I get to start looking for a new job soon. I’m half tempted to just cal off each day that I work for the next week, and go out job hunting instead. You know, since I’m already fired and such.

But it wasn’t just the job that made me go into meltdown last night. It’s the fact that I’ve been failing at pretty much everything I’ve been trying lately. I can’t get a date to save my life. Ben turned me down, and then Lee did too. I swear, I’m going to be that crazy old cat lady spinster at this rate.

Then there’s the accident at the library. I scratched some lady’s car, and the cop treated me worse than shit. I seriously hope he dies in a fire or something. Same goes for bitch boss.

So pretty much the only reason I didn’t end up in the hospital is the fact that my friends Joe and Nessa were talking to me on Facebook, helping me feel a bit better. I mean, I still feel like absolute shit right now, I’m pretty sure this is one of my lowest parts, but at least I’m not carving up my wrist like I did on Sunday. Though at the end of work last night, I did see if one of those box cutter things they have would cut very well. It didn’t, so Amber got no blood. *shrugs*

I need to find a healthy environment to work in. One that isn’t going to firing for not brown nosing my boss enough. I don’t do that sucking up thing very well, especially when it’s someone who REALLY doesn’t deserve it. Hence, no sucking up at Home Depot. My mom’s the same way. She wouldn’t suck up to the RNs at work, so they all treated her like shit.

I still hate my life, but at least now I’ll agree to the fact that it might get better. Not for awhile, obviously, because I’m still single, unemployed in about a week, and in almost $100,000 worth of debt, but at least there’s a possibility that some day it won’t suck quite as bad. Hopefully.