Letting the summary of hell commence…
1. School begins again. I'm a nineteen year old retard who went to a place that didn't give me work and let me run rampant. I fucked up and spent two years fucking around. It has been my most regretful "choice", or arguably, series of choices in life. So I'm stuck in high school for another year, and if I don't graduate, I'm snatching that GED. I'm not the only nineteen year old crammed into this hell, obviously, I'm just the most immature, retarded one who won't be able to mentally handle one more year of juvenile bull.
2. The saving grace of high school is this year, I'm friends with a group of girls who are not exactly juvenile, they're fun loving but not necessarily childish. So I start off the year on a better social note than the last.
3. Unfortunately, the closest thing I had to a "boyfriend" at one time is going to college.
he'll get nabbed by some stupid sophomore or fellow freshman slut who is a looooot more experienced than I am. That makes me very angry because above all I know it's probable and very likely to happen unless he's one of those straight arrows who wants to deal wit me and my PsychoBitchAss, because I'm some pure little angel who somehow trumps the hot, beautiful, college girls throwing themselves at him.
The truth is that I'm very sexually and physically frustrated and I just want to make out with him to loud rock music.
Unfortunately he's dealt with his share this summer and I'm pretty sure that is brought him to an emotional low. And I think he just doesn't wanna show his emotions to anyone right now.
Guys don't like to show their emotions to women because of the vulnerability factor and the asshole mindset some have that additionaly deters them from doing so (that "men who show their emotions are weak", fuck off, all of you). I didn't even know what to say when I found out the kind of shit he was dealing with and it took me forever to respond because I'm a fuckin asshole who's dealing with my mental issues, so I guess that makes me a shit "friend".
He responded to me earlier this week before going on an ignore spree. I think he's goddamn mad and honestly, he has a right to be. I feel a bit dead at this. No, I feel angry. Mainly at myself. I lipsynced and thrust myself around the apartment trippng over shit while dancing in the most awkward and painfully sad way. Like I'm just done with myself.
Men are hard to read. I'm probably wrong. I have a feeling this whatever this is, its screwed. I can try buying concert tix and he'll probably still say no. I can do whatever and I'll still end up right where I am currently. That's what I feel.
But I care about this hopeless cause and hopeless case that's about to hang itself by a fucking noose. I care way too much. You don't just stop caring overnight about someone. You just don't. Men can get over shit easier than I can. They always do. Most people do. I toss myself into a deep ravine and expect to come out uninjured, every time. It's bullshit. I dedicate myself so much to people thinking it's going to last. Does it ever? Rarely. And you know what sucks? This is the first time in a long time I've felt like this and it's just gonna end in the same shit way because it took me five plus months to come out of the closet about caring.
My school didn't have a prom last year. Or a dance. Or a homecoming. We had shit funding and no takers. I wish there was a way I could've. Then maybe I wouldn't have spent months pondering. Perhaps there would've been something that ignited some excitement in me, that urged me to confess. My love for the whimsical, dumb shit known as prom, if you go with the right person, knows no bounds.
I tried on a prom dress at the end of last year when the event was long past. It was a long flowing frock, a beautiful perwinkle color. Whenever I look at the picture in question I want to cry. I wanted even one night that wasn't graduation. I didn't get jack. But I did this to myself. This is all me. Hell. Hell. Hell!!!!!
4. General mood hell. Kind of mentioned above. I'm in my own mental funk. I stopped taking my proper prescriptions or started halving them to avoid having to eat more again, to avoid heightened appetite, which is basically regressing back to myself in 2013-2014, it's a very poor decision and yet, I dont feel myself regretting it physically. What's really affecting me is lack of sleep. I'm super moody and lackadaisical mainly because of the fact that I've been averaging four hours or less per night.
The only day I got more than five hours under my belt was Thursday/Friday, when I was out cold by eight, and woke up at five thirty the next morning, feeling the giddiest I'd felt in what felt like a month, having finally obtained a fair amount of rest in comparison to my dismal track record. I was so fucking happy. I sent my "friend" a selfie, shockingly got no reply, I went through school literally vibrating with excitement and glee, got out early and drove with one of my new friends (who seems sweet, but I have my hesitance) like a madman to the mall.
The rapture of course didn't totally last. Once she was out of the car, I began to feel tears bubbling up for no particular reason other then the fact that I was once again by myself. Alone. And then my brain sneered at me that that would always be the case. That poor poor pitiful audrey will mostly be alone. Thanks, brain. And I cranked up the radio to drown out those sounds, I pretty much tried to bust my eardrums so I couldn't hear my own godawful sniveling noises. I engulfed myself in sound just to numb it all away. It was exasperating how it took me so long to keep up the happiness before my feelings collapsed on top of me like a damn skyscraper.
It never fully gets better does it?
Always feeling like people are using you, out to get you, to hurt you, to pity you and toss you out. It's the same bullshit paranoia and I don't know, just when it seemed like it was diminishing it came back with hellish resurgence.
Nobody in my life is helping me. They're all too caught up in their own hell. I've been through six out of seven fucking circles of it in the last twelve years.
I wish I could especially tell the dude who I'm trying to communicate with, that very fact. Like, "look, man, my mother hurt me and mentally scarred me, I live with all these inherent mental issues and people used to bully me to attempted suicide, among other things, but I'm still here!!! You don't have to live through your hell alone!!! You don't!!!"
If I don't change my anti anxiety medication my meds won't be able to fully help me anymore either. The buspar has lost its charm and I've rendered it near useless at this point. Doesn't work like it used to. Doesn't provide me the proper energy. Doesn't fuckin' work effectively anymore. And they won't give me Xanax even though I've had small dosages before for panic attacks / bad days on my record and have NEVER shown signs of being addicted to it. There has to be something stronger. Upping my SSRIs makes me fat AND doesn't work.
5. Whilst shopping with my friend I bought a couple shirts. Pretty pedestrian and mundane hot topic shit because I love men's shirts, band shirts, snark shirts, and pop culture shirts. The last TPR shirt they had in stock was an XL, so I went for a Doors shirt (one of the many band shirts I didn't own til yesterday; and there's still more to collect! I want that Who t-shirt, ya hear?), and a Sam shirt (from SPN, because Jared is a big puppy who makes me feel better, albeit temporarily). Then a skirt from that Charlotte Whatever store, which WAS selling ONE, ONE of those button up denim skirt styles I've been looking for (unfortunately not in the preferred color, but that can be slightly forgiven) and unfortunately not in a fitting size, they had sizes 6-12 without a 0-4 in sight… I ended up buying the aforementioned ten dollar black maxi skirt from the clearance section that looks like something Fiona Goode would approve of. And that was that. I seemed fun on the outside but on the inside there was a slight pained tingle.
Maybe it was just thinking too much about it all at once.
I spilled some to my friend but I thought unloading all the contents of my head onto her, especially as someone rather new to me, would not exactly be optimal. Even so, by the end of that day, I felt like I was choking, I got home and began lipsyncing to furious rock music.
6. For schoolwork itself, it's disgusting, atrocious, and just plain annoying. One of my half credits last year was displaced and even though I did a half semester of English, it's not appearing in the system, so I have to redo. Government is an actual threatening, ugly, in your face BEAR, and the only person who I WANT to help me with it is in some kind of despair or busy busy about to start college hell, both I guess. My teacher also refuses to tell me when the FUCK we're gonna get chemistry books, I NEED to finish the last half of it, but no one seems to understand that enough to hurry the fuck UP about getting said books!!!! In other words, it's a pretty damn disjointed mess.