Tuesday, December 26, 1995
9:20am, work

Just seeing how hard it’s going to be to keep from tripping out all day. Absolutely cannot stand five seconds in my mother’s presence. Really feel miserable and low.

My mom is absolutely the most anxious woman alive. Yesterday it was hard not to be overwhelmed by her anxiety. “Where is everybody? Where is everybody?” The whole thing was such a farce, I couldn’t even seem to get drunk off the wine, just tired. Disassociating, had to fight to the end of a sentence. I need to protect myself from her.

How can I look great by New Year’s Day? I need to write something for the occasion. It’ll be such an anticlimax and painful, just like everything about the holidays. Next Tuesday it’ll all be over and I’ll still be riding to work. I’ll be as happy as I am now to be going there, too.

Good to see Spyro the other day but confusing why I act like I do. Smoke myself into a coma and wish for my guests to leave.

Told Ted I love you this morning, but he didn’t say it back. Don’t even know what it means. He is my closest friend and I hardly know him. I feel pretty cut off and removed from just about everything. I wonder if he hates me, despises me, is sick of me, and blames me for it. We spend so much time together, used up all the fun and novelty already.

How dare Ted not tell me he loves me? How dare he be bored and unsure? Well, fuck him. I’ll just isolate myself until I disappear.

The other morning I just felt so screwed up and hyper/weird. I took my wrist rest and smacked myself in the head with it a few times, which felt great. Felt reckless and demonstrative and exactly what I needed. I need to beat the shit out of myself or swallow my own tongue or scream and cry and rage and kill and express the pain and frustration I carry around on a daily basis.

I feel absolutely awful. Want to be wrapped up and held. Want somebody to pick me up firmly and hold me tight, tell me it’s going to be extremely, absolutely okay and that they love me and that I am worth something; anything; that I exist; that I mean something; that anything means something.

I’m so tortured by my own thoughts. I don’t want to interact with other people. I hate other people and their selfish, selfish, hate, hate, pain, sadness, fury, disgust, confusion. Wish I was seeing Judith. Feel somewhat pathetic.

I wish I could go away to a sanitarium where people are experienced in dealing with sadness and pain and self-hatred. I hate myself right now like I haven’t in months.

I want to have a huge, shrieking crying fit. It’s been a while, and I deserve to completely let it all hang out and just do le freak if I want to. Do I want to? What do I want?

I want: caring and nurturing in acceptance, and I’m disgusted with myself for wanting it when so many people in the world don’t have it, either. The whole world is full of such pain and suffering and cruelty. I can’t stand it. I need to rest my head against the edge of my desk. Who am I kidding? I don’t give a shit about the pain and suffering in the world.

I will skip the Saint Marks reading with no explanation. I don’t care if they invite me next year. I don’t care if they never invite me again. I don’t want to be part of their fucking club. Who asked them in the first place? It’s just another opportunity for Jackson and Ava to smirk and gloat and make me feel like shit. And if I skip it, that will all be thrown back in their faces. That’s the last thing they expect, is for me to blow it off.

I‘m so glad Spyro’s coming for lunch. Maybe he will be the one who cares enough. Ted doesn’t care enough. He can’t. He’s been so hurt, too. I felt so left out not being able to make it to Leslie’s on Monday, and feeling like Ted was just as happy without me there. They all were.

An interesting record for later. Hi, me later. Are you, am I, disgusted? Saddened by all this?

See, I’m still a good person. I feel empathy and caring. I do. I’m good. I am. I tried. And I keep trying, even when it hurts me, so that I can prove I’m good. And then maybe people will be kind to me, and treat me the way I am so starving to be treated.

I just ran through more feelings than I ever want to feel, and I feel nauseous and sick and tired and toes curling and crossing in my shoes and sick and exhausted and scared and wishing I could just lose it and cry.

To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.