I spent the night at Michelle's, and the two of us cried all night and wished we were dead. I missed another full day of school. This morning, we visited The Caring Place, the center where CHIMO is operated from in our city. Ah yes, good old CHIMO crisis center, who doesn't love 'em. So I made an appointment to talk to Steve on Wednesday. I don't know how much good it will do me, but it's the effort that counts.

It was pretty weird because it took a lot of guts for us to walk into CHIMO and talk to them. I don't know why I felt so stupid about it, it's not like I haven't been in therapy before. So we casually strolled in and started out by saying, "We're just checking the place out...so what exactly do you guys offer?". Steve said his shpiel (sp?) about the place. I was looking through the pamphlet of different kinds of counselling, and said, "So Chelle...which one do you think suits us best, I can't decide", and Steve laughed. Then Michelle said, "Yeah. Basically, we can't help each other any longer, and we need professional help." So Steve went to his office to grab a paper and talk to us, all while I laughed and Chelle whispered frantically, "Did I just tell him we needed professional help?". Um, yeah you did, and it's not like you were lying.

I will crawl back to my real therapist this weekend. And it all starts, again. Medication, again. Back at square one, but maybe this time I will do things right.

I feel like absolute hell. It hasn't even sunk in yet, I'm still so numb, so frozen. I'm in complete and total denial.

I have a very big test tomorrow, and a presentation on a sonnet for English. I had randomly signed up for a sonnet to present about 3 weeks ago, and I never read over what exactly I was presenting until tonight. This, my friends, is where this cruel ironic world lends its, well, cruel irony. Here is the sonnet I have to present:

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part;
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea glad with all of my heart
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any timie again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes;
Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.

Fuck me. Like hell I am going to be able to present that poem to the class without freaking out. How much more hateful could God be to me at this point in time?

Speaking of God, I have nothing else to do with my sorry self tomorrow night, so Blake is dragging me and Chelle out an hours drive away to meet his Confirmation sponsor, who apparently was an atheist and communist and was suicidal until she converted to Catholicism. I'm willing to go, I'll do anything at this point. Devoting myself to God? If it works, seriously, I am up. I'll become a bloody nun in a convent if that's what it takes to relieve myself of this pain. I just hope she's prepared for two highly delusional crying girls entering her home.

The denial is unbelievable right now.

I have this theory about being severely depressed, and it's similar to a concept in Biology, about how it is impossible to suffocate yourself by holding your own breath. Eventually, you will pass out and your muscles kick in and save your life. I think the mind works like that too. When you get down to your very lowest low, your survival instincts snap. You want to die, but you're too chicken shit to go jump off that bridge. You know you cannot continue living like this, you wouldn't survive. You wouldn't eat, drink, move - nothing. You always get to the point where you have to get better. You honestly have no other choice but to make an effort to help yourself. Unless you have the guts to jump, you eventually come to the realization that no one, absolutely no one, can help you besides yourself.

I don't want to think about anything to do with him and whoever. I don't even know the bitch's name. I'm kind of glad he wouldn't tell me actually, because I would obsess in a seriously obsessive way over it if I did know. I am just going to try and block all of it completely out of my mind. I am the only important person right now. I am the only person worth thinking about. It is me I care about and nobody else. Everything from now on is for me. I will not let anyone control my life ever again.

This is my attempt at being a healthy, normal person. I am going to repeat these things to myself over and over, 100 times a day. Everything to do with him is going in a box. I am not going to look at his sorry face ever again.

When I have the heart and guts to actually do the whole box-thing, I'll let you know.

Mornings are the very worst time of the entire day. I despise waking up and realizing I have another full day ahead of me to live. It is the most nauseating feeling.

And the more days that go by that I don't cut myself, I will reward myself. With something. Haven't exactly figured that out yet. But it will be something good.

Welcome back, Ms. Depression. I didn't exactly miss you, but hey, now that you're here, stay a while, we'll chat...

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