The End

I'm closing down the blog because it's a year old, and no longer represents how I feel and where my life is going.

I will probably start up writing elsewhere.

I think about writing him every day, but make an argument against myself just as easily. Maybe I'm going through the stages of mourning--maybe I'm processing.

Maybe there's an end to this after all.

Can Go On

I cried a lot when I got the news about my car. It signaled the end of my hope that I might someday have my freedom back.

I hardly leave the house unless I have a doctor's appointment or need lab work done.

My days are filled with housework, reading and watching TV.

I wonder how long I can go on like this.

The LSU Professor will not loan me the money for me to be able to fix my car.

I am now stuck.

The General Drinking Mode

I've been drinking, feeling sorry for myself, the general pity mode.

I have to figure out how to come up with $1,500 dollars to fix my car (in addition to the money I've saved, and the money my parents are pitching in). This is close to the amount the car is worth. It's either this or buy a used Honda Civic or Accord.

Most of the time, I'd just spread my legs to get it, but it's a little difficult when you have no wheels and you live at home with your parents.

The original estimate for the car was around $1,800, but once the mechanics opened it up, they saw there was more damage. The service advisor called me after they inspected the Mercedes and said they need $3,200. My parents wouldn't make up the difference even though I know that they have the money. So much for my birthday present. 

 I have made two phone calls to the LSU Professor, the only person I know who knows cars, and would possibly loan me the money. I haven't heard back. Money comes between friends, but I'm especially desperate.

I've been highly irritable.
 Sometimes I want to die.


I don't know what keeps me going, to be honest. Why I wake up everyday, and get out of bed. Habit, it seems. I take no joy out of life.

I realized a few days ago that there is no one here for me, if I was in the ER, if I was hospitalized, no one would come and be by my side. I have friends, sure, but many of them are far away.

Some of my depression is the knowing that the LSU Professor would not be there for me if I was in mortal danger again.

But most of my depression is about Morpheus.

I've decided to disappear--not physically, of course--but only off of the communication channels with friends. I'm doing this because I don't have anything to say to anyone.

Hello. How are you?

I'm sad. 

The end. 

I try to be sympathetic to friends' needs and wants, but I can't handle it now. It's draining.

Everyday is the same. I can't imagine a way out.

Kill YOu

"These drugs can kill you."

--my psychiatrist, referring to my daily cocktail