People Are Strange When You're A Stranger.

I'm reviving this blog. It's like a diary to me, and considering the circumstances, I could really use an outlet. I don't have anyone to go to about my problems. No one wants to hear me complain about my shitty childhood and never ending battle with depression. I don't blame them. I'm not looking for attention. I'm not looking for pity. I'm just looking for happiness. I'll even settle for contentedness.

I can probably count my friends on one hand, honestly. I try to create and maintain relationships, but it's so difficult. It is not an understatement when I say that my social anxiety and depression have gotten to the point where they're almost debilitating. It's sickening.

Therapy and medicine seem not to help, and that's what scares me the most. I don't tell anyone I am suicidal. It's constantly in my head. I really feel trapped. But if I mention wanting to end my life, I look like a fucking drama queen. I really don't know how long I can handle this. The thing that frightens me the most is the fact that it could all be over so easily. I literally live right next to the train yard. One two minute walk, one fifteen minute wait and it could all be over.

I guess I should consider myself strong for having lasted this long.
I must admit though. I have had such urges to start cutting again. But there's no way to hide it. I don't feel like it's self destructive. The rush, the calming sensation, and the blood. It's all so tempting. I feel that it's my body and I should be able to do whatever I like with it.

I guess for now I'll pop some more pills until the pain dulls.
Never let my smiles fool you.