It's time for me to confess more to you my diary, for I'm feeling rather low. They are little things, but they are many and they add up. Everyday I wake up terrified at the thought of having to leave my bed, to the point where my center aches with every movement and pain shoots through my periphery. But the pounds on my door and the shouts from the kitchen will refuse to let me be.

But the clamor of the kitchen in the morning is starkly contrasted against the silence in the car. For half an hour, the discomfort depresses me. But it's not even that I want to speak to my dad, and I'm very sure he has very little interest in initiating conversation with me as well. This morning there were only eight syllables uttered:

Him: "Did the Cubs win yesterday?"

Me: "Yeah."

And when I come home, he's usually in my room "cleaning," deciding what I need and don't need, deciding what I value and what I don't. It reminds me why I spend so much time at school.

Speaking of school, I'm safe in assuming that I'm failing mutiple classes yet again. I have no will to do anything. I distract myself with very trivial things like music instruments and cameras and computers, not really feeling much better a while after I'm finished with them. I always feel better when I'm with my friends, but the amount that I have has sharply decreased. Many of them have stopped talking to me and/or are angry with how I'm conducting my life. I really can't blame them, but watching them walk past me in the halls and ignore me hurts nonetheless.

And of course, the new lack of an intimate companion is now really starting to sink in. It fucking sucks. I miss her, I really do. I miss holding her hand, I miss playing with her hair, I miss looking in her green eyes, and I miss having the kinds of conversations that couldn't be had with anyone else. I can't make eye contact with her anymore. And when I see her in the halls, I panic and break out in cold sweat and stutter to whomever I may be talking to. I'm so goddamned fucking pathetic.

And when I sit down to write a paper or do an assignment, I stop. I convince myself that the effort isn't worth it anymore and that I've damned myself already.

I don't know any other forum where I can express how I'm feeling, and I'm much to afraid to tell those who are still willing to listen to me in person. Yet I know people read this and it doesn't deter me, for I will relate what is most personal to me to others through the most impersonal means because I don't know any other way.

Those scary thoughts have been swimming through my head again and the syringes are calling me. I push them away, but they come back, right when I realize that I've accomplished nothing at all.

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