This morning I called my brother's court-mandated therapist and left a message requesting an appointment.
The truth of the matter is, there is a lot going on inside of me that I know I can't handle anymore. For years, all throughout high school, these issues incubated, building up to their devastating peak as I pretended them away with school work and friends.
Now, I've hit twenty and the various conditions have reached full-fledged maturity, hitting me all at once.
I'm not crazy. I sometimes worry that that's the impression anyone reading this blog would get, that I'm somehow handicapped, a looney gone well off the deep end. That's not the case.
I'm simply a very, very unhappy person attempting to somehow salvage my life before I do something quite bad. I will not lie to my readers, because I never have: I've been teetering back and forth between pseudo-normalcy and suicide for some months now.
Really since last year, but much more consistently and intensely since this summer, I have alternated between being sort of okay and being emotionally destitute.
This last weekend, while still very sick, I went downstairs around five o'clock in the afternoon and attempted to lay down for a while in my bed. It had been raining that evening, and so the walls of my bedroom had an ethereal yellowish green color to them, the product of mottled sunlight attempting to escape through thick gray clouds and falling water droplets.
I drifted in and out of sleep for two to three hours, and then abruptly woke up and, for absolutely no reason, started to cry. I'd been half-dreaming about friends of mine from high school, in particular one young man, a Republican with whom I'd always exchanged good-natured jabs and who is now at Cornell. Thinking of him led me to think of another friend, this one a girl, and then I was running over scores of people in my mind, including my parents and people I'd worked with at the Major University student newspaper.
I just stared up at the ceiling as tears flowed down either side of my face, wanting desperately in that moment to die.
I recognize that this is all very depressing and, probably after a while, boring. It does get a bit repetitious.
It's just that this has all worsened greatly in a short period of time, and I don't know what to do. I am so scared and sad, and I try to pray and don't even know if I believe it. I think there's probably someone up there, but I don't know if He's listening to me. It feels very pointless sometimes, to ask for the same things over and over, and have absolutely no faith that they will be given to you.