Searching for my Happily Ever After.

This entry is for William as much as it is for me.

I feel sorry for William. He seems to be the one to get all my depressed texts, all my problems. I kept the poor thing up 'til 2 last night. I couldn't sleep so I texted him to see if he was awake.

I need to sort out what my problems are before I can fix them.

Oh God I don't want to go back to college. I tend to feel worse when I'm there. I'll just fail my subjects again, and I'll end up being a toothless smelly greying lady working in McDo by the time I'm 25. Everything I work at I ultimately fail. Even if it's something I'm passionate about. I was passionate about all the subjects I took, save Biology (I love DNA, but everything else is just hard work for me to like), and I got low grades on all of them. Hell, I failed Classical Civilisations! My Classical Civ! Odysseus! The Greeks! Oh... hell.

If I hadn't have gotten so low, low enough to go running to Tim, which I promised myself I wouldn't, I would have been able to do my coursework, and I wouldn't have got 15/90. I wouldn't have lost the pieces on the college computer. I'd've made an effort when I failed multiple times. I just kept knocking my self down so many times that I couldn't find the strength to get back up again.

And another thing. During the exams, Classics and Philosophy in particular, since it was that room that was like it, I spent half the time looking at the stack of misaligned books on that dratted shelf. Right by my head. Just asking me to sort them out. But I couldn't, I was in an exam and it would have been something dratted again.

Mother and Dad found the letter I wrote to Tim. I wrote it because I wasn't sure I could tell him properly. So I wrote my problems down. But my parents found the letter. That afternoon Dad asked me about it. Thought I had left it there on purpose. Pretty silly place to leave it really, Kim. The following week nd a half was spent with a moving cloud of eggshells around my proximity, since Mum and Dad kept acting like they were trying not to break any. Stupid moving cloud. I think I became one of those eggshells myself at some point during that week.

I've been getting to sleep later and later. I can't get myself to sleep. It's fustrating and exhausting. Half a year ago it was 12 o'clock. A few months ago it was 1, half one. Now I'm drifting off to Dreamer's Country at a quarter to four! And when I'm up late I've found that I feel terrible. Emotionally. Drained, miserable. I think the tiredness somehow amplifies how I feel. Either that or the tiredness makes me feel as depressed as I do.

When I'm around others I'm either terribly and annoyingly hyper-happy, or angry. Or.. no, I think that's about it. But half the time, when I'm being hyper-happy I don't feel it. I either feel normal or terribly down. I can't help it.. it's like my body takes over and bounces around and irritates the shit out of everybody automatically while I'm left inside thinking "I shouldn't have eaten those cookies," or "Stop it, you're annoying everybody". Maybe I think it's my role to be the annoying one out of the group.

When I'm at home Ben, Mum and Dad are shouting at me. I probably start it. I'm so grouchy around them. And by grouchy I mean snapping at them; "Ben! Shut that door!", and yelling; "Hey! Will you just be quiet a minute and listen to me! WE. NEED. MORE. MILK."

You know that feeling you get when you're trying to say something to somebody and they're just. not. listening? I think I'm so loud that nobody hears me. The problem is, when I'm trying the other option and speak quietly I'm still not heard. Not as if I've consistantly got worthwhile things to say, but sometimes it's important. I have to schedule my talking to mum in between her Eastenders, or Heatbeat, or Columbo, or Poirot, or some other goddamned soap, detective show, anything that's bloody well on.

Just now, well, an hour ago, as House was starting, I was trying to align the sofa. Please don't ask why. But anyway Mum asks me what I'm doing, and I snap
"Mind you're own business!" I'm embarrassed, but I have to, because I'll be aware of it all through House.
"Kim don't do that. Kim! Kim! Don't.. Kim! Don't do tha-Kim, Don't do that." All that was rapid-fire. She was just so intense.
"Mum! Will you just shut up, please! I want to watch this, and I'm done now." Sitting down. Mum's already standing and she zooms over to me, eyes glaring.
"DON'T EVER TELL ME TO SHUT UP!" Taps the light control sharply to turn it on full. "WHAT I WANTED TO TELL YOU WAS THAT THERE'S A GATE THERE AND YOU'LL SCRATCH THE FURNITURE!"
"Okay Mum, I'll remember next time. Sorry.
"JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
"Uhm... Kimberley Joy Smith, mum. You gave birth to me, remember? Or maybe I'm Gordan Bennet, since you say his name so ofte--"
"DON'T GIVE ME CHEEK"
And so on and so on. Right through the one program I wanted to watch all week.
I got it right, by the way. Leprosy. I got it as soon as his boils came up.
But anyway. I get shouted at so often for such little, little things.

Can I please just.. get my own place somewhere? No. No I can't because I don't have any money.

Yesterday I broke a cup. This isn't significant to anybody else except me, unless you happen to know a bit more about me than I'd like and have the same thought paths as I do.
The handle broke off. There was water all over the wall. I cleared up, sat on the sofa. I saw a spider the size of my palm (minus the fingers, it wasn't as unbelieveably huge as that) crawling on the wall to behing the television. It seems whenever things bad happen I see something unpleasant.

Today on the bus home from Southampton I heard a small screech of breaks. I looked up and saw the old man sitting at the front lurch forward. I saw the front of the bus crumple and something big like a lorry or truck go through the window. I thought that it was only a matter of time when the truck would reach me at the back. I felt sorry for the man. I gasped.. and realised that we were just driving down the road, the man was fine. The bus was intact. Nobody was going to die. I don't know if I'd fallen asleep, I don't think I had, but it felt so real and vivid.

I feel like I'm losing my mind.

If I am I've been losing it for over a year now. When I realised it was the end of August I also realised that over a year ago I'd picked a needle up. Over a year ago I was in German trying to get ink off my hands so desparately that I tried erasing it off. And I used to cry myself to sleep just because of how miserable I felt. Over. A. Year. Ago.

Shit.

Tim can't help me.

Nobody can help. How can they help me? How can I help me if I don't know what the fuck's wrong?

Sometimes I'm so down, so so very down, and I cry, and I don't know why. Why am I crying? I ask myself. There's nothing to be sad about right now. I had a brilliant day. Okay, mediocre, I grant you. But it's not like... I got raped or my parents died or anything horrible like that. You've had an alright life. Why are you so desparately depressed?

And I find I can't answer. And a thousand questions rage in my head. And I can't answer any of them.

12:34mn